League Short Stories
by MeltedJujubees
Summary: Short stories about any and every champion of the League. Each chapter is a new story, and continuations are in the title :] Suggestions are welcome! Long update times while I work on my other fics.
1. Eclipsed

Diana's fingers twitched, contracting ever so slightly around the hilt of her blade, the leather of the pommel cutting into her palm. She was still calm, for the time being. She cleared her throat and tried again. "But if you'd just listen to what I've found-"

The elder directly in front of her hissed and leaned forward out of his chair, effectively cutting her off, and not for the first time. "We see what you've found quite clearly!" He practically screeched, gesturing at the armor and blade that now adorned Diana's form. "It's treason, you bringing that traitorous armor into one of our holiest of places! You're a heretic, Diana!"

No one dared to speak, or to challenge his ruling. It was so utterly silent, Diana would have sworn the elders could hear her heart beating frantically; hear the uneven breaths she tried so hard to hush. He held his stance over the table, pointing accusingly at Diana across the room for a few seconds more before collapsing back in his chair, his hand going under the cowl across his face to rub his eyes. "But you're young, and naïve." He consented. "There is forgiveness to be had yet. Discard the so called Lunari artifacts, renounce this unfounded belief, and pledge your allegiance to the sun once more. You can be saved."

Diana's eyes, the icy blue eyes so different from every single Solari on the accursed mountain, narrowed to slits. She squared her shoulders, tilted her chin up in defiance.

"I will not"

She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard the elder sigh. "Then die with your heresy."

Almost instantly, the Solari guards that always stood vigil outside the elders chamber's poured into the room, brandishing the traditional spears they always carried. Diana shifted to a more defensive stance, crouching low and bringing her scythe to bear. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to still her pounding heart. There were too many, too many guards for her to defend against. She resigned herself to her fate; she would die valiantly defending the truth.

The guards hesitated for only a second, perhaps because of the reluctance the kill a small woman all alone, then rushed forward together as a unit. Diana whipped her scythe in front of her, preparing for a painfully abrupt end, when all at once everything seemed to stop. The guards stopped moving, the elders all made strangled noises of surprise, some even removing the trademark cowls from the faces in an effort to get a better glimpse. Silvery light radiated from Diana's skin, bathing the guards closest to her in a pale glow. And then she felt different, weightless, impossibly strong. This new feeling flowed through her muscles, from her feet to her legs, from her torso to her neck… It was heady, intoxicating, and made her feel like nothing else she had ever experienced… Until it reached her face. The power stopped at her forehead, collecting into a central point, then coalesced into the most blinding, debilitating pain that Diana had ever felt. She fell to her knees, dropping her beloved moon blade to the floor beside her. She clutched at her forehead, screeching like a wounded animal. Her forehead was on fire, she was sure. Her mind was being cleaved in two, it was burning…

Everyone in the room stared, rooted in place at the sight of the glowing woman, keening in pain and clawing at her face. And then all at once, the room was silent once more. Diana gasped, raggedly trying to suck in air. It seemed to come quickly to her, filling her with new strength. She took one last breath, grabbed the hilt of her blade, and then rose from her position on the floor. The elders that had been so enraptured with the scene before them now gasped in horror. Where Diana had once had smooth skin, was now marred by a crescent shaped scar, spreading across her forehead and glowing brightly. Diana grinned wickedly at the elders and the guards that stood warily before her. They now seemed so… insignificant. Harmless. She barked one short, mirthless laugh before lunging at her first target in the group of guards. Her blade glowed with the luminance of the moon, an arc of light flowing from it, connecting with the soldier and marking him for dead. She dashed from him to his comrades, from man to man, slashing and hacking and cutting her foes down with impunity. They tried to fight, to strike down the moon worshiper where she killed, but she was intangible, she was nothing but moonlight slipping through their grasps. It seemed like years later that the beam of light that left screams and blood and death in its wake finally stopped moving, once more turning back into Diana. Her blade was stained red, her new scar glowing brighter than the moon itself. And her eyes, the eyes that had been impossibly blue before, now shone silver, focused on the elders before her.

"I tried to show you the light that existed even in the dark. I tried to reason and enlighten. But you would cast me out and strike me down, even in the face of truth. Your ignorance has doomed you. Rest easy knowing the Solari shall be better off."

Diana gave them one last second to absorb her judgment, one last second to appreciate the living embodiment of them moon before them, before she dashed into their midst and dispatched them like she did with the soldiers; effortlessly and without prejudice. She was methodical, she was pure light. She was merciless.

She spared the head elder that had doomed her for last. He was struck from his mighty position, reduced to cowering on the floor beneath the might of the moon. He shook as Diana approached him, flicking the blood from her blade with one quick twist of her wrist.

The elder shut his mouth, tilted his chin back much like Diana had before in the face of inevitability. But where Diana had been saved, there was no moon to absolve the elder from his fate, no beloved sun to cast away the darkness.

"You are a heretic, the very scorn of what you worship. You murder with injustice. In time, the Chosen of the Sun shall end you."

Diana stopped her advance, once again focusing her shrewd gaze on the high elder. He'd said the one thing that could reach her, that could affect her in any way. After a moment of hesitation, Diana carried on, swinging her blade forwards.

"The moon eclipses the sun, Chosen or not."

And with that, Diana swung her moon blade forward and ended the reign of the Solari elders.

Leona could feel the death long before she climbed the steps to the elder's chambers, long before she entered their vaulted hearing room and came upon the mutilated bodies that littered the floor. With the scent of blood and death choking her, she rushed passed the mass that used to be the Solari guard and fell to her knees beside the high elder. Tears stung her eyes and clouded her vision as she pulled his head onto her lap. Her forehead fell, falling to touch his as tears dripped from her nose.

"This is my fault. I was gone, I was tasked by the sun with your protection and I've failed you all'

And she knew beyond a doubt who it was that ruined the Solari so completely. Leona was supposed to be protecting her especially. Diana was small and weak, her mind filled with traitorous ideals and whimsical fantasies about the moon, but still Leona loved her, still she strove to protect her from herself and from the rest of the Solari. She knew that Diana had found exactly what she was looking for in the cave down the mountain, and that she meant to present it to the elders immediately. Leona cursed herself again, gripping the roots of her hair and pulling until she thought she'd rip it all out. She groaned quietly, tears streaming down her face.

'I should have been here!' She chanted to herself over and over again, the mantra that would be the death of her. She stayed in that position for a long time, for hours it seemed like, gripping her hair, gritting her teeth, rocking and crying and cursing herself for her fatal negligence. Finally, when she was sure the moon was well above her, she set the elder gently back on the floor and left the slaughter behind her.

Diana knew that she would find her here. It was her favorite garden to come to at night, when she was feeling stuck and afraid. The moon would always hang silently above her, bathing her in its quiet comfort. Leona used to sit with her here sometimes, to listen to the inner turmoil that defined Diana. She knew when Leona had finally found her; the footsteps on small stepping stones and soft grass were all too familiar. They stopped short, right inside the entrance she guessed.

"You killed them."

It was spoken so softly, but Diana could feel the anguish and the horrible anger that writhed beneath her placid words. Diana flinched, but turned to face her.

"They would not listen. I tried, Leona, to make them see reason. Believe me."

This was the first time that Leona had seen Diana's face since her attack on the elders; she gasped, closing the distance between them.

"What happened to your face? What have you done?"

Leona raised a finger to brush against the scar that now marred Diana's face.

"And your eyes…" She murmured.

Diana tilted her head away. "They are gifts from the moon. They mark me as chosen."

Leona retracted her hand slowly, still gazing at Diana's carefully stoic gaze that now shone silver.

"Diana, you killed our high elders… I was charged with protecting them! They were my responsibility and you slaughtered them! Do you know what you've done, what this means? Do you know-"

Diana seethed, spitting out her interruption.

"What about ME Leona? Was I not promised the same protection you pledged to them? Was I not more in need of it, when they sentenced me to death for finding the truth? You left me to their mercy and I was forced to do what was right! Do not speak to me about responsibility!"

Leona recoiled as if Diana's words had physically harmed her, yanking her hands to her sides and stepping away. Before Leona could speak again, Diana continued.

"I found the truth. I was reasonable, and they deemed me a heretic. You're all the same, blinded by the sun you revere so much!"

Leona was silent, couldn't think of the proper response to her outburst. How could this be the same Diana she knew? The meek girl who was too small for the Solari, too obsessed with books for someone so young, too taken with the moon for her own good. She was now imposing, shining in the moonlight. The crescent blade she carried by her side filled her with fear. Her eyes, once so bright and young and innocent now shone ethereal in their beauty, piercing and dangerous.

This was not Diana.

Diana could feel her assessment, could ascertain the judgment as if she'd spoken aloud. She grabbed her blade from where it rested against the garden wall, twirled it in her hands and stepped away from Leona.

"The sun and the moon share a sky, Leona. We are chosen by the gods. We were meant for more. The verdicts of mere men shall not hinder our work, will not sway me from finding the truth." She paused the turn back to Leona, still standing perfectly still in the middle of the garden, hands held tightly to her sides.

"You can join me."

She slowly turned to face her, her eyes conveying her answer better than words ever could.

"I'm sorry Diana, but I cannot."

Her voice was strangled, and her eyes anguished. They were alight with tears, like Diana's were with moonlight.

"Farewell, Chosen of the Sun."

And like that she was gone, like the last phantom rays of moon light in the face of morning.


	2. Call of Darkness

He had expected resistance, not surrender.

This unforeseen reaction… Stalled him. Stayed his hand, made him listen. He was invited to enter the temple with his former master, and he complied. He signaled his students with a slight turn of his hand; he knew they would wait without movement or complaint, until he returned. The master said nothing as they walked up the temple's steps, the only sound in the air the slight scraping of dry leaves being tossed against the stones steps by the wind. Zed steadied himself with a deep breath as he followed his master through the door.

He knew where they were going; this part of the temple was dark and foreboding , sealed to the majority of the kinkou order. It was where Zed had found the way of the shadow, and irrevocably changed his life. And he thought to himself, as he walked farther down the hallway with an ever increasing sense of dread, if it was the right path to take. Had he been leading his students, his faithful followers, to ruin? Had he unintentionally been feeding them lies? Why else would the master be so sure that Zed was taking the wrong path, and offer him another chance at redemption? It had been years since Zed disobeyed the master and opened his own Pandora's Box, and the master –grey now with age, he notice, and much slower- still had hope to save him. But Zed did not share the same hope. How could he? He'd spent every moment of every day of the last decade immersing himself in his shadow technique, and bestowing the knowledge unto his followers. He'd clung to his belief religiously, and the thought that he could be wrong terrified, truly terrified the usually stoic ninja to his core. The master seemed to sense Zed's inner turmoil, and spoke quietly.

"You may not see it now, Zed, but there is always hope."

Again, he was forced to ponder the possibility of hope. It had been lost to him for so long, taken away when he was too young to understand what it was that he'd lost. And yet, here it was, so easily offered to him.

Hope.

And as effortlessly as it had been to believe that there was hope to be had, it was swiftly destroyed.

Because there it was, there was the small, inoffensive box that had started this all. So plain, with simple carvings that graced it's sides. A miniscule, matte black lock that looked nowhere near strong enough to hold what Zed knew was swirling inside hung loosely against the front of the box. Zed knew hope had no chance to exist, because as soon as he entered the room he could feel the box, beckoning to him to open it once again, to complete his training. It was so irresistibly tempting, and so utterly undeniable, Zed didn't know how he didn't immediately rush to its side, like a crazed, long lost lover. It took all his power to stumble back outside the doorway, which finally caught the master's attention.

He looked at Zed with those strangely grey eyes that were the mark of The Eye of Twilight, but turned back to the box.

Zed wondered how he could possibly stand to be so near it.

"It is difficult for you, I can see, but you have the strength to defeat this. This will not destroy you, Zed. Now join me."

And Zed forced himself forward, and to stand ahead of the master, stopping in front of the box. The master prompted him with a nod, and he kneeled. Shakily, after what seemed like an eternity, he lifted the lid of the box.

The effect was immediate.

Zed was assaulted by vicious, seductive whispers that filled his head, each vying to be heard over the other. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only try to focus on the multitude of voices that screamed and cried and laughed, joining together in a cacophony of the insane. He clutched his head, wrenching at his hair and his skin, anything to pry away the horrific voices that gripped his mind. He was drowning in his own consciousness. He thought he could hear the master saying something – was he screaming? – but he could only think, 'make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…'

And like that, Zed had his savior.

One voice in his head that stilled the others.

"Embrace the shadows."

And not of his own will, he opened his eyes. He didn't know how he didn't scream in fear, or run for the door. Standing above the box was a shadow, comprised of swirling miasmas that twisted and turned sickeningly. But it was the shadow's eyes, brilliant red eyes that were set behind a foggy mask that paralyzed Zed and stilled the faintest of whispers in his mind. And as he stared, Zed realized that this shadow was him, was his shape and build, with the same blades he favored affixed to its ephemeral arms and wispy shoulders. And quicker than he could ever hope to follow or react to, the shadow raised its arm and slashed one of the dark blades across Zed's unprotected face.

Zed screamed in pain, finally being released from his paralysis to clutch his face, streaming with blood from the gash that reached from the top of his right scalp, across his right eye and nose, to below his left ear, splitting his chin. And suddenly he felt vile, sick to his stomach, as if he was being filled with the most vicious of all poisons in Ionia. It spread from his face to his torso, to all of his limbs. And then that voice… The thick voice of the shadow that had maimed him.

It was in his head.

"I am the blade in the darkness. And now I am you."

Zed tried to scream, to move or do anything, but could only watch in terror from his mind as he, as this shadow, rose from the floor, dripping blood all the way. He turned to the master, who was now standing in the middle of the room, face carefully emotionless. He was unarmed and remained unmoving. And staring at what Zed had become, he hung his head.

"I've failed you again, Zed. And I am truly sorry."

Zed tried to respond, but the shadow controlled his tongue. Zed could feel the shadows invasive thoughts that were like clouds of poison, pervading his mind. Murderous, violent thoughts… Zed tried to scream out a warning, but only managed to twitch his fingers. The same hand, in but a second, lunged forward and slashed out at the masters exposed neck.

And just like that, he'd ended the Kinkou.

And all Zed could do was watch in horror and shame as his old master tumbled to the floor, spreading his own puddle of blood across the wood.

And then he was angry, so indescribably furious. At the shadow that had ruined his life and murdered his master, and himself for opening that box in a petty fit of jealously so many years ago.. And at the master, for so callously forcing him to open the box when he ought to have known he could never handle doing it again. How could he? Should not the very Eye of Twilight have been able to see the outcome of this fools venture? The master had ruined Zed and cursed him to a life of shadows. His life, only one life, was not enough to atone for the wrong he had committed.

It was Zed's anger that allowed him to finally control the poisonous shadow he knew he'd never be without again.

"Out. We will take the Kinkou, together."

He could almost feel the shadow grin, and he watched, half amazed and half fearfully, as the shadow melted from his form, oozing across the bloody floor to the walls outside the room. Even in the shadow's absence, Zed still felt toxic.

And angry. So horrifically angry. He wiped vigorously at his face, catching the last of the blood dripping from his chin. Finally, he leaned over to grab the masters head that lolled against the floor stained with spilled life, then strode out the door and down the hall, where his shadow was waiting. He paused only once on his way out of the temple to grab a metal mask attached to one of the many suits of armor that decorated the temple, affix it to his face, and stride out of the temple and into the sun.

Shen has been waiting very, very anxiously outside the temple for Zed's and his father's return. Nature seemed very silent that day, as if it too were waiting to see what happened. He, like everyone assembled, had heard Zed scream out in pain. A few of the Kinkou had jumped up as if to enter the temple, but Shen swiftly motioned them away. His father had been clear; no one was to enter the temple as long as he and Zed were in there. And as much as it pained him, he stood stock still and waited.

Zed's company, he noticed, had kept unsettlingly still. Not a single one of them had so much as twitched at the sound of their leader in pain. Shen was still warily eyeing the group when he heard someone leaving the temple. It was Zed, for sure; the figure was large and muscled, unlike his aging father. Unease twisted his stomach.

The doorway of the temple bathed him in darkness for a moment longer, before he stepped into the light. Shen immediately sprung from his slouched position against the walls surrounding the temple.

Zed's face was now covered, but he could still see his eyes. Eyes that had once been dark and troubled, were now inexplicably and sinisterly glowing red, and they scared Shen in a primitive, instinctive way. And behind Zed was his shadow, so impossibly dark and foreboding. Only Shen was so focused on this unnatural shadow that clung to the temple walls and Zed's feet, so only he saw it slink away from Zed's form and away from his sight.

It was then that everyone started screaming.

Zed had thrown the masters head in the midst of the kinkou, where it thudded sickeningly against the grass, coming to a stop at Shen's feet. Before Shen could move his frozen muscles, or even being to process how drastically his life had changed in the course of seconds, Zed shouted above the terrified screaming, his voice unimaginably loud and dark and demanding.

"Strike down this fools order! Slaughter every last ninja hindered by balance!"

And with that, Zed had started a war.

He watched his expertly trained students slaughter the lesser kinkou, reducing them to nothing. He joined the fray, rejoicing in every drop of blood he spilled. His shadow was wreaking a havoc of its own, until it came to Zed's side. Together, master and shadow mercilessly cut down the kinkou, not bothering to discern skilled warriors from innocent mothers and children; everyone brutally met the same end. Zed could smell blood and death and sweat and despair, and reveled in it. It fed his shadow's bloodlust, fueled his anger. He danced on blood and around bodies, his blades cutting through all. And the slaughter that had been so effortlessly executed was over in minutes.

The Kinkou were no more.

It was hours later, as Zed sat upon the throne he had rightfully acquired through blood and conquest, that one of his best advisors sought him out. He bowed low.

"Master Zed."

Zed inclined his head.

"Speak." He said with that new voice that rang with darkness.

The ninja appeared unaffected.

"Shen has escaped with a select few kinkou. We could not find them."

Zed pondered this for a moment. He thought he ought to be angry that his students couldn't catch but a few weak ninjas… But found himself reveling in the news instead. This was his chance to best Shen yet again, to take the last thing that held any meaning to him and claim his life, once and for all.

The student couldn't see Zed's face, but saw each gloved hand clench around the arm rests of his throne, and the shadow that now accompanied him everywhere, that surrounded itself in an aura of terror and death, snuck up the walls to stand behind him.

Both Zeds grinned.


	3. Nothing I Wouldn't Do

Yasuo twirled his sword's hilt in his fingers, ignoring the small eddies of air that flowed from the tip of the blade, swirling the dust at his feet.

He realized his hands were shaking.

He gripped his sword significantly tighter, clenching his other hand into an uncomfortably tight fist. He started at his white knuckles, adjusting his position on the rock he was perched on. He knew he should be moving, the anxiety in his legs screaming at him to run, but he had been running for so _long_. He just needed to rest.

He just needed to think.

Because the question that was burning a hole in his mind, that wouldn't let him sleep or eat or drink.

Who?

Who was it? He'd been exiled and ruined, by his own country and people. Accused of murdering the very elder he was elected to protect! The injustice was venom in his veins and bile in his mouth. Every second of his life on the run, he'd run through every possibility of every person he'd ever met.

No one knew the winds like him.

So obviously, someone had gone through very great, exhausting lengths to set Yasuo up. To make the crime seem so perfectly unique to him.

And they had succeeded.

Yasuo slammed his tight fist against the rock, ignoring the blood that dripped from his hand when he lifted it away. It _angered _him, enraged him so fully and completely that this hate filled person he'd become in such a short time terrified him.

Besides the shock at being set up, the fear for Ionia's safety after the invasion, the despair for the people he'd hurt trying to escape, the betrayal of his people is what burned the most.

Yasuo felt like he was drowning in hopelessness, that they'd find him stranded here someday, a withered husk that had never held anything inside at all.

He pushed himself roughly off the rock. At least running kept him mind focused on something.

He'd just begun walking when he heard the dry brush behind him rustling. He whipped his head around, his sword at the ready. A involved in his self-loathing as he was, he thought he'd been carefully scanning for intruders.

The noise in question pushed apart the last of the scrubby trees and foliage, entering Yasuo's line of sight. The man was so reminiscent of himself, if slightly larger and carrying a different weapon.

Yasuo let his sword fall to his side, once again blowing small rivulets of air across the earth.

He stood up straight, lifting his chin and trying to ignore the new stinging in his eyes, the tightness of his throat.

"Hello, brother."


	4. Tales of Valor

She wasn't sure who she was anymore.

Everything she thought she knew about life and death, about priorities and luck and circumstance and love and hate or anything, was wrong. There wasn't anything in the world she was sure about anymore and how could she be? She had been so steadfast and stubborn in her belief that she, like her brother, was undeniably invincible. And clearly, they could handle anyone and anything, if they were together.

And for a while, they could.

But as oft does in a child's mind, it never occurs to them that they are not exempt from the laws of nature, and that fate is very cruel. It wasn't until her brother lay bleeding in her hands and hopelessly struggling to breathe that Quinn was painfully forced to the realization that children such as themselves were not infallible.

Even in the light of agonizingly contradicting evidence, Quinn still believed that if she could just get her brother back to her parents, they'd get him to a healer and he'd be released in no time, right as rain, just like all the stories of super heroes she and her brother loved so much. He drew another rattling breath, a noise unlike Quinn had ever heard another human being make in her entire life.

She had never felt a dread so strong, and would never again.

She shook her brother once more, in the vain hope that she could shake the irreversible wounds away and that they could get up and go back home and never leave again.

"Please," She sobbed, begging him once more. "Please don't leave me."

She couldn't see.

Panicked, she scrubbed furiously at the tears that would dare blur her vision. Uninhibited, her eyes searched her brothers face for a sign, anything, that he was consenting to her please and not leaving her all alone.

What she saw would haunt her every day for the rest of her life.

His eyes, once so bright and eager to experience new things, were clouded and dull and very unfocused, loosely centered around Quinn's face. His skin was so, so pale, all the color that had once flushed his cheeks now spilling out, wasted, onto the grass beside him. He tried to lift his hand, she thought, to touch her face, but he hardly had the strength to move his fingers. The hand limply flopped back to the earth.

"I'm sorry, I really am! I need you here! Please don't leave!"

Her tears were pouring down her cheeks now, and falling onto her brother's ashen face. She tried to scrub them away, but every tear was readily replaced. She gave up on the hopeless endeavor, settling to pull her brother closer to her chest. She leaned her forehead against his, rocking them back and forth, moaning "Please, please, please…"

Her mantra fell on dying ears.

She felt ghostly fingers press against her exposed cheek, fingers she knew used to be deft and clever and strong. She pressed her own fingers against them, holding them there, and tilted her head back once more to study her brother's face. His complexion, if possible, was paler, his eyes now slick with tears. He took a deep, shuddering breath that made his whole body flinch in pain. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I'll be here. Forever and always."

But his voice was the sound of death and decay, and so silent Quinn almost missed it. Before she could respond, his eyes rolled back into his head and his body heaved once more, and then was still. Quinn blinked rapidly; she released the hold she had on his hand against her face to grip his shoulders.

His hand dropped with a muted thud against the grass.

She shook him, gently at first, but increasing in violence the longer the action didn't elicit a response.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

She wailed into the darkening forest.

She yanked at her hair, pulling several handfuls from the roots while still screaming her vehement denial to the sky. She yelled her curses at the heavens until the sky was black and she could speak no longer. She still clutched her brother in the darkness. She moaned once more, the sound scraping painfully against her throat.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

Her whisper was raw and nearly unintelligible. She sniffed, and all of a sudden the weight on the situation sat heavily on her eyelids. She struggled to keep them open.

Quinn, impossibly, fell asleep.

She awoke in the morning cold and damp and painfully stiff. She tried to shuffle away from where she fell asleep, eyes still stuck shut, so she didn't have to see what her brother had turned into during the night. She hesitated once, several feet away, her throat thick with new tears and scraped raw from the night before.

"Goodbye, Caleb."

She left him behind.

She wandered alone, starving and tired, half delirious through the forest for the rest of that day. She vaguely realized that the forest around her was familiar, but in her dead mind, it didn't occur to her why.

The sun was beginning to wink behind the tree line when Quinn stumbled into a small, scrubby clearing that once again, was faintly familiar. She gazed from one side, her eyes unfocused and unseeing. She was about to shamble away, back on her aimless journey to nowhere, when she heard the quietest of noises. She stopped moving and held her breath, waiting.

And there it was again, this time louder. A slight, painful sounding chirp coming from the middle of the small field. It took her feet a moment to obey, but she sluggishly made her way towards where she thought the sound had originated from. And what she found shocked her from her zombie-like state.

A large, indescribably beautiful eagle was sprawled on the dew covered grass, clearly injured and unable to move. He let out another plaintive cry that beckoned Quinn closer. His left wing was bent at an awkward angle, his deep blue tail feathers crushed and broken. Although his body was frail, the birds gaze was invariably sharp; it tracked Quinn's every movement across the grass. She knelt next to the bird, and Quinn, ever the avid nature enthusiast, recognized it to be a previously perceived extinct species of Demacian Eagle.

In spite of everything, the sight still took her breath away. She tentatively inched her hand towards the bird, his eyes following her hand carefully. She hesitated when her fingers were near to touching the bird's injured wing, as if waiting for permission.

The eagle blinked.

Quinn slowly brushed her fingers across the long feathers, which were softer than she previously had thought. The bird shifted, but otherwise allowed her to continue to stroke his feathers. After a few minutes, the eagle cooed as if to remind her that he was still injured and in pain, spurring Quinn into action. She gently, ever so carefully, maneuvered her fingers under the eagle's body and lifted him to her chest, careful not to jostle the bad wing. The eagle was silent and still, allowing her to help. And as she carried the eagle that was nearly as big as she was, even with wings folded, out of the clearing, she realized why these woods seemed so familiar.

It was a part of the forest that was relatively close to her old house, that she and her brother would regularly frequent when they were younger to play pretend super heroes and villains. And as Quinn glanced down at the giant eagle clutched gingerly in her arms, she knew that her brother would be with her, in a sense, by way of his favorite redeeming quality in the heroes he so revered.

"Come on, Valor. Let's go home."


	5. In Plain Sight

Lux was in big trouble.

It was her specific job description to be effortlessly stealthy, and to be able to slink and spy anywhere anyone could dream of. That was why she was one of the biggest jewels in Demacia's military crown; She'd been perfecting the art of subterfuge since she was 13.

And yet, here she was, hiding in an elegant yet totally unfamiliar bathroom, head clutched in her hands and silently cursing herself and her stupidity.

_How_ did she lose her composure so quickly and easily? Everything had been going according the plan that evening; she went to dinner at the Du Couteau's, like she was supposed to. She played up her disguise to perfection, like she was _supposed_ to. And still, she had failed.

Lux never failed.

Not when it came to magic, and not when it came to spying. And she especially didn't fail because of some… Guy.

She was embarrassed to admit it to herself, but there was really no getting around it. She had let a chiseled face and dreamy eyes to blow her cover, and put her life in jeopardy.

In and of itself, it was still extremely bizarre. By circumstance, Lux was regularly exposed to every variety of people, of which countless many were above and beyond attractive. And she had never, not once, _ever,_ blown her cover.

She tried to recall the moment at the dinner where she had ruined the mission. Unsurprisingly, it was easy to pinpoint.

For this particular voyage, Lux was impersonating a Zaunite ambassador. The head of the Du Couteau residence regularly met with this specific envoy, and the increased fraternization between the two nations had drawn Demacian attention.

So naturally, Lux was sent in.

Her disguise was flawless as always; the slightly wrinkled hand she saw reaching for her glass and clutching a fancy fork for salads (or something) was undeniably perfect in its accuracy. And when Lux happened across the very rare mirror in the manor, the dull brown eyes and short black hair common to the people of Zaun betrayed no hint to the luminous blonde underneath the façade.

So far so good.

The dinner, she thought, had gone well also. She was well versed in idle chit chat, and supplied the appropriate 'mhm's' and 'ah's' to General Du Couteau's ramblings about the inefficiency of Noxian command and the ever looming threat of Demacia. She'd been so focused on the utter lack of incriminating evidence she was receiving and which fork she was supposed to be using for the chicken she was served that she almost missed the entry of another guest to the very small and slightly awkward soiree. Very clearly a man, he walked completely silently to the General's side, and spoke equally quietly into his ear. Lux couldn't help but fix her gaze onto the newcomer; he was the most interesting thing to happen in hours.

He had the strangest cloak wrapped around his body and draped down his back. It was a very deep purple, with black offsets. But the slight glinting of what could only be metal shone at the bottom of the cloak, where she found that there were indeed, several blades affixed to the garment.

Strange, but not outlandish considering Noxian standards of dress. She'd been staring at the dagger-like appendages to the man's cloak when the General's abnormally loud voice snapped her to attention.

"Nonsense, Talon! You'll join us for dinner."

Talon (strange name, but still not outlandish.) made it very clear with his stiff posture and refusal to move right away that he did not, in fact, want to stay for dinner, but complied and slumped into a seat across from Lux anyway. She focused her gaze on the ridiculous cutlery, but tried simultaneously to peek at Talon from her peripheral. Even straining her eyes, there wasn't much to see. A long cowl covered the top half of Talon's face and shrouded the rest in a dark shadow. He kept his hands tightly to his sides and his back completely straight, a posture so rigid Lux thought that if she stared at him too hard, he'd snap in half.

She would've kept staring, but the General called her name and focused her attention elsewhere. Still, as her gaze was finally leaving Talon, she noticed him shift almost imperceptibly in her direction.

The General had nothing terribly important to say, or nothing Demacian Command would care to hear about. Lux was beginning to feel that this mission was a complete waste of time and resources. She sighed, lowering her eyes to the food she'd only been picking at all night. That exhalation of breath caught Talon's attention, and she looked up in time to catch his gaze. Or rather, the shadow where his eyes should have been. Almost as if on cue, the General piped up.

"It's rude to cover your face at dinner, Talon. And you haven't greeted our guest."

Again Lux noticed the very slight, very unnoticeable tensing of the man's muscles, but again he obeyed. He lifted one hand and one finger to hook underneath his hood and pulled it back.

And that, Lux decided, is when she lost control of her mission.

What she had expected was someone similar in appearance to all the rest of Noxian Command; an aging, greying man with an ego almost as big as his bank account was sure to be. She was pleasantly surprised to be very, very wrong. Talon was undeniably attractive, with a straight jaw and very broody dark eyes girls would do backflips for. His lip was curled ever so slightly at the corner; there was the ego she had expected, but if she could discern anything from sitting across from this man for the past half hour, was that it was rightly earned. Talon was very imposing, what with the large stature, off putting persona and the fact that he literally dressed himself in blades.

Lux was very busy studying Talon's decidedly stunning facial features, so busy in fact that she didn't notice her own (sort of) face was slipping. It wasn't enough to warrant attention from anyone else in attendance to the dinner, but enough so that when Talon inexplicably chose that very moment to snap his gaze to hers, he could tell that the seemingly aged woman across from him was neither old nor the esteemed ambassador from Zaun.

Because for one split second, one slight lapse in attention, the woman's eyes had shone a brilliant, youthful blue, until she jerked in surprise and shifter her eyes to the food below her that she was steadily poking at with the wrong fork.

Talon squinted his eyes, trying to pick some other anomaly from the woman's clothes, eyes, anything, but before he could investigate too much she suddenly cleared her throat, announced "I'll be heading to the ladies room, excuse me.", and walked off without waiting for an answer. Her absence hadn't affected the party in any way, so most of the guests carried on as if she hadn't spoken.

Talon, however, sat stiffly in his chair (more so now, if that was possible.) and tried to very quickly mull this over.

Had he really seen the woman's disguise slip, or had he been mistaken? He was leaning more towards the former, and carried on with the thought. Who would she be, even if it was a disguise? What information could she possibly glean from a pointless, idle dinner party? And how on earth did she make the farce seem so convincingly real?

As Talon realized he could no longer hear the woman's heels clicking in the tiled hallway on her way to the bathroom, he lurched from his chair and from the room without explanation. He heard a door snap closed from a short distance away, and increased his pace to the only bathroom on that floor.

So as useless as the information would now be, Lux was still satisfied that she could pinpoint exactly where she had lost control. She realized that she was still painfully clutching her hair, and released the offended roots, standing and smoothing out the very plain and boring skirt that befitted an ambassador of her status. She gave herself a cursory glance in the frosted mirror that hung on the wall opposite from her. Although the image was unclear, she thought that everything seemed in order. She took a deep breath, silently congratulating herself for not getting caught, when she froze.

There was a knock on the door.


	6. The Alliance

Her magic swirled around her, pleasantly agitated.

The randomly sifting waves of dark magic coagulated into three spheres, slowing their revolutions around her to lazily float at eye level.

Syndra's mood matched theirs.

Though usually very active and diligent, she was currently slumped in her throne-like chair, chin propped on the heel of her hand, eyes unfocused. Her mind, however, was racing.

She had previously thought that in Ionia, she was the ranking threat. Public enemy number one. She made it her priority to keep an eye on the competition, so she was one of the first to know when the kinkou, the goody goody order of ninjas that stood for equilibrium or good posture or something was overthrown in less than a day, now currently run by a man who worshipped the shadows.

Ever in search to learn something someone else didn't know, Syndra took it upon herself to personally grace this new usurper with her presence.

From what she remembered, the temples that the old ninjas had favored remained largely the same. They were quiet, seemingly abandoned. A cliché flitted across her mind.

_Too_ quiet.

Unperturbed, Syndra left her position of floating above the ground in favor of walking, keeping her signature three spheres close around her. She walked along a shady path in darkness cast by a cherry tree, littered with fallen pink blossoms, until coming to a pause at the entrance to the head temple. There wasn't a door, which she took as an open invitation to walk inside.

In the darker, more confined space, her spheres grew in size and orbited around her slightly faster than before. She spun in a slow circle while carefully moving forward, taking in the simplistic décor and quaint wooden accents. All together, the temple was nice but rather boring. Syndra wondered if she had wasted her time.

Removing her gaze from the ceiling, it fell onto a throne much like her own, which when she first entered, had thought to be unoccupied. There was a man perched on the edge of the chair now, clothed in red and black fabrics, decked with armor that shined dully in the dimness of the temple. The mask he worse did little to conceal the burning brightness of his crimson eyes, quite reminiscent of her own lavender ones. She inclined her head, the corner of her mouth twitching into the slightest of smiles.

"I rather like what you've done with the place."

She remarked, pirouetting slowly again to take in the room. The man shifted in his chair, leaning his head against his hand, but said nothing.

" I take it the kinkou's décor was… not to your taste."

This earned a grunt from the otherwise silent ninja. He shifted his position once more, to perching his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms.

"Syndra."

Although evidently unnatural, his voice was deep and pleasant. Her smile grew.

"And you are?

Although Syndra herself was focused on the man's response, her magic had picked up on something else. Quickly rotating once around her, they alerted her to the presence of several people that had silently and inexplicably entered the room. She surreptitiously glanced from the corner of her eyes to the corners of the room. Her spheres directed her gaze upwards. It was there, if you focused hard enough, that you could see several spots where the shadows were deepened and elongated. She almost widened her smile.

Shadow warriors, indeed.

As her eyes fell back towards the focal point of her attention, the man on the throne stood. The mask completely obscured any facial expression he might have, but Syndra decided he sounded… Pleased.

"My students."

He explained, gesturing lazily towards the walls. Saying nothing in response, his pupils silently left their positions. Her spheres assured her they were alone.

"Faithful and eternally useful. Akin to these, I'd venture."

He pointed with a gloved hand to her spheres, which rotated once before shrinking from existence. She grinned.

"You could say that."

Zed was attracted to power, so naturally he was drawn to Syndra. He'd heard about the Dark Sovereign's conquests, and watched, quite enraptured, and she boldly entered his seemingly deserted temple. True to form, she stayed unperturbed throughout her analysis. She'd even taken notice of the stealthiest of his students, earning a modicum of respect. And here she was, still clearly undaunted. He placed a hand on the small of her back, unprotected since the disappearance of her watchful spheres, and led her out of the darkened temple and into the sun, his strengthened shadow in pursuit.

"I am Zed. Between us both, we have much to learn."

Although sinister it might be in another situation, Syndra beamed.


	7. They Start Young

"Too easy!"

Cass huffed, frowning at the gloating smile plastered on her sister's sweaty face. She squinted her eyes, nearly shut, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring sun.

"I _told_ you Kat, I don't wanna play this game anymore!"

Katarina's smile twisted on her face, transforming into a grimace, marring her chubby cheeks. She stuck a hip out to her side, perching a stubby fist on the edge.

"You only don't play because you lose."

Cass threw down the wooden sword she had been disdainfully carrying. It clattered against the concrete, Cass's pink shoes making tiny versions of the same noise as she stomped off.

"I didn't want to play with you anyways!"

Kat yelled at her back, although she knew Cass was too far away to hear her. She kept up her exaggerated grimace until Cass disappeared inside the manor, then dropped painfully to the ground, sticking the heel of her hand against her cheek and crossing her legs. She sat there for hours, vaguely noticing the sun's shadow moving across the concrete as she traced irregular circle with her finger against the rough ground.

Sometime later, she paused in her aimless drawing to scratch at the old sunburn underneath the new sunburn that stained her skin, and peeled the flesh across her nose. She scratched until she was sure her nose was raw and half falling off, the pain adding to her misery.

It wasn't fair that Cassie wouldn't play with her. She was just a sore loser, is all. Maybe tomorrow would be different and Cassie wouldn't scowl at her when she showed up to her room, maybe she wouldn't storm off and make faces at her and call her names.

Maybe.

Kat had a hard time convincing herself that with a new day came a new person, and the downcast expression soured again. She huffed a sigh that hitched in her throat, rather painfully. She screwed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to trap there what she knew was coming.

Daddy had said that big girls, big strong girls never cried. He said weakness was for people unworthy of life itself.

Kat pressed harder against her eyes.

In an amazing feat of 8 year old strength, Kat kept herself from crying. She gave her eyes a few good rubs, then picked herself up off the ground and dusted her knees. She flicked her hair behind her shouldering, straightening her back and striding with renewed confidence towards the house.

Whether or not Cass would play with her or treat her differently didn't matter. Nothing mattered but being the best and the strongest. Not just the best and strongest that she could be, but the best in the whole Du Couteau family.

The best in Noxus!

Kat would show Cass and her Dad and everyone else just how strong she could be.

She'd show them all.


	8. Promises made to Monsters

Cass hissed in frustration, pelting yet another necklace at the wall.

The jewelry in question shattered on impact, shiny pearls scattering across the already littered floor. She screamed low in her throat, twisting around to face her mirror again. Her eyes, normally so captivating in their beauty, were puffy and bloodshot. Her flawless skin was blotchy and streaked with tears. She raised one finger, carefully pulling at the bottom lid of her left eye. She tugged, released. It slowly snapped back into place, remaining as puffy and irritated as before. Cass's fury grew.

She whipped around to her bed, where every article of clothing and piece of jewelry she owned was sprawled against the duvet, in no particular order. She grabbed the closest thing to her – a clearly expensive, expertly handmade silk dress that matched the green of her eyes – and ripped at it with her new claws, effectively reducing the garment to nothing but pricey shreds of silk.

Her anger had not ebbed.

She methodically tore through the rest of her clothes, ripping them apart and discarding the sad remains in irregular heaps on the floor. She was about halfway through alternating between throwing her jewelry out the window or against the wall when she lifted a ring her mother had given her. She paused, considering, and her anger magically and immediately dissipated, leaving nothing but a broken and destroyed girl behind.

She clutched the rung to her chest, between her claws, trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that day. Her tear filled eyes fell on the sad remains of all her possessions, so carelessly strewn across the floor. She lifted two handfuls of shredded cloth from where they lay, and pressed them against her cheek, her tears spilling over and onto the ruined shreds.

Cass was utterly miserable. Her clothes and jewelry and beauty were all that defined her. She was supposed to be the most beautiful Du Couteau, the enchantress that Noxus prized. But now she has nothing. She was confined to the dark, contained in her room with her self-loathing and overwhelming self-pity. Her clothes didn't fit her, her jewelry didn't nothing to alleviate the defects she was now inflicted with.

She was disgusting.

She climbed shakily onto her bed, now devoid of colorful and soft fabrics and curled in on herself, wrapping her tail clumsy around the bottom of the bed.

Her _tail_. She still hadn't gotten used to it, despite dragging it around for more than a week now. It was pretty enough, she supposed, if it wasn't attached to a human body. The scales running down its length were shimmery and shined in even the faintest of light, in every shade of green you could imagine and then some. But it was heavy, and made an unsettling scraping noise when she slithered across the floor. And it was a horrific aberration; Cass had carefully hidden herself away from the staff members that littered her household, ever grateful that Katarina was still away on some assignment. She was sure that when people found out that the famous Du Couteau beauty had turned into a hideous beast, she would be mercilessly executed.

Perhaps they'd even make her sister do it, in the name of Noxus.

She whimpered again, clenching her hands and flinching when her new claws cut into her delicate palms.

She still hadn't gotten used to that.

And it crossed her mind, for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, if she ever would.

Eventually Cass fell asleep, and was startled awake by the vibrations in the floor that when she was human, would never have been able to feel. She dragged the tip of her tail that she had let carelessly drop onto the floor back onto her bed, groaning and closing her eyes. She spent the day in and out of sleep, exhausted from her extended outburst the day before.

The moon was hanging high in the sky the next time Cass was awoken. She was incredibly groggy, the cold night air stilling her movements and muddying her mind.

There was a knock on the door.

"Cass, open up. I'm not asking again."

Despite the cold making her sluggish, Cass immediately sat up straight, scrambling to pull the blankets around her and over her tail. Evidently she wasn't moving fast enough, because what seemed like seconds later the door flew open and Kat let herself into the room.

Cass looked up in dismay; she hadn't even been close to being able to cover the enormous tail spread across her bed.

Kat dropped the backpack the had slung across her shoulder and ran to the bed, kneeling by Cass's head.

"Cassiopeia, what did you do? What happened?"

She placed on hand on Cass's face, the other reaching out to touch one of the many scales adorning the top of her tail.

"Oh Kat…"

She sobbed. "I don't know! It was a man, from Freljord. He tricked me! And now I'm hideous and they're going to kill me and-"

The expression on Kat's face stopped Cass mid-sentence. She was murderously angry.

"Who's going to kill you? Who said that?"

Cass actually felt a little sheepish.

"Well no one, exactly, but I figured that when everyone found out…"

Her weak explanation puttered out lamely, sounding sad to her own ears.

"They'd be fools to try. _Dead_ fools."

Cass sniffed delicately, allowing a very small smile to tug at her lips for the first time in nearly two weeks.

"But Kat, I can't live like this… I'm a monster! What am I supposed to do?"

Katarina shifted her position on the floor, from her knees to the balls of her feet, and clasped Cass's claws in her hands.

"I will help you fix this, I swear it."

And right then, Cass almost felt beautiful again.


	9. Command: Observe

She was confused.

Technically, she understood the situation. It was a trivial human emotion, was most were, that she had become well versed in since joining the league; flirtation.

Her mind whirred, quickly going through the logged scenarios in which flirtation occurred. It was typically a weightless, ineffectual expressing of emotion passed between any given subjects, usually used to alleviate tension or express another, underlying emotion.

Technically, understandable.

Yet the subjects she now observed had such a way of parading this flirtation that confused their fellow humans into thinking that they, in fact, were _not_ flirting, but expressing a mutual dislike.

Curious.

Orianna turned back to her archives in search of a more substantial bit of information on the subject at hand. Again she relayed the scene she was currently scanning and recording for future reference against her previously stored data. The intent of the exercise, she determined, was the same. Still she could not quite understand how it came to be pair before her, equal counterparts from opposite nations, was as unlikely a match as any.

Strange, but Orianna digressed.

Although bizarre in the pairing, they very clearly meshed well together. Orianna could tell that the sparring (very trivial, she had deduced, after several weeks of careful research and consideration) the two engaged in was very real, and that both parties physically showed no signs of unfairly giving the other a disadvantage.

Or advantage, if her theory proved correct.

Even from her forcedly robotic opinion on the matter, Orianna could still appreciate the grace the two seemed to create. Although significantly more violent and decidedly more seductive, the practice fights clashed with some of her previous memories, the ones from before her muse's death. They were very cloudy, clearly unreliable memories of the late Orianna dancing. Very light on her feet and incredibly elegant, Orianna had commanded the same attention and created the same grace dancing that her subjects were now executing with calculated violence.

Interesting.

Besides the seemingly choreographed jabs and kicks and such, both partners were wasting precious oxygen needed to fuel their death match to taunt each other. Orianna pondered this. Although phrases like 'Noxian who-', which had been cut off with a small dagger whizzing dangerously close to a jugular vein, and 'brainwashed Demacian' meant nothing to her and elicited no unhappy response to her personally, Orianna knew they were intended to be insults. But with the carelessness in which they were thrown from one combatant to the other, she knew they carried no weight and were never intended to maim.

Frustrating.

Typically, humans were simple to understand, and Orianna prided herself on being a self proclaimed expert of the weak affairs of their emotion driven lives. So being unable to immediately discern the motive of such a seemingly harmless behavior pitched her in quite a sour mood. For a robot.

Was it possible that these two complete opposites were so forcibly different, as to actually turn them into corresponding pieces? That the social standards and petty politics that many had thought were enough to separate them forever, had actually made them a perfect match? She tilted her head to the side, placing her hand on the ball that floated by her side. At her touch, the ball bobbed in place, making quiet, mechanical noises as if in assent.

Success.

The theory clicked nicely into Orianna's collected data and subsequent evaluation. She had overlooked the obvious attraction between her subjects at first, like so many other humans. But she was not human.

And Garen and Katarina were not fooling her.


	10. From the Ashes

She could hear nothing.

She knew that she should be deafened by her surroundings: the desperate screams of the dying, the explosions that rocked the earth beneath her, her own panting breath, clawing at her throat. But she was not. A low, quiet ringing in her ears was all she audibly registered. Her eyes, however, processed a nightmare.

Scared, dying people scrambled over the hilltop she was on. There was a thick, shallow miasma of green fog that clung to the calves of the fleeing soldiers, slowly creeping along the grass, oblivious to the chaos. Riven's confused focus narrowed in on one person in particular; an Ionian soldier, evident from the light armor and dark hair. The man stumbled, and then fell to his knees, simultaneously clawing at his throat. His eyes bulged, his complexion darkened, and he fell, twitching, to the poisonous earth beneath him. She watched the man jerk and writhe until she gasped, suddenly aware that she was dizzy, dangerously low on oxygen. She tried to haul herself up, clutching the grip of her rune sword for balance. The fog around her seemed to be holding her to the toxic earth, grabbing her legs, beckoning her to stay. Drawing on strength she didn't have, she pulled herself up, shakily, unsteadily, to her feet.

From a higher vantage point, the destruction around her was all the more devastating; she averted her gaze, instead focusing on her blistered and bleeding hands atop the hilt of her sword.

'Away', she thought. 'Get me away'.

Her bleary gaze, unfocused by stinging and unshed tears, flitted to the tree line at the bottom of the hill. The chemical fog seemed thinnest there, hardly reaching past the first of the scrubby underbrush. Encouraged by the moans of the dying, Riven yanked her sword from the earth with the last vestiges of her strength, and began the arduous limp to the forest. She could hardly feel her feet; sweat dripped into her eyes, the light breeze stung her blistered skin, her poisoned mind unable to comprehend anything other than getting away, far, far away from the hell that was that hill.

A few steps from where she had risen, Riven tripped on nothing but the phantom fog, and rolled the rest of the way down the hillock. She crashed into every uneven surface on the way, bruising her already horribly battered body. Upon coming to a stop, Riven groaned, then gasped in terror as her ears stopped ringing and the full cacophony of the war around her assaulted her ears.

The screams were all she was able to focus on.

The animalistic, tortured, utterly inhuman screeches that emanated from the wounded and damned tore at Riven's ears, her consciousness, her sanity. She grabbed roughly at her offended ears, clawing at them and whimpering feebly in an attempt to block out the sound of death and destruction. Ironically, the saving grace to the torture of sound was another concussion, another explosion of fire and green smoke that rocked the world around Riven, setting her ears to ringing again. Riven uncurled from her cramped position, releasing her ears. She had time to notice a new wave of thick, cloying smog rolling over the hill top before instinct took over and she bolted from her spot on the ground, stopping only to grab her sword and then scrambling on ruined legs to the safety of the forest. With the asphyxiated brain, shell shocked consciousness and exhausted body, Riven was hardly able to keep her eyes open as she crashed through the beginnings of the dark woods, tree branches and thorns halting her progress and ruining her further.

She didn't know how long it was before she tripped on something unseen in the darkness. All she knew was the burning her breathing caused, her stinging eyes, the agony in her muscles as she pleaded with gods she didn't believe in to give her the strength to get away. She careened in the inky blackness of the woods, and collided heavily and ungracefully with the earth. She tried to stand up again, to keep going. She fought to live and failed, deciding that the darkness that was creeping slowly and steadily through her mind, the darkness that dulled her pains and quieted the screaming she could still hear echoing in her brain was preferable to the torture that Riven knew as life.

Riven closed her eyes and gave up, mouth too twisted by poison to smile at the relief.

"But those were his own troops. It doesn't make any sense. "

Irelia kept her gaze focused on the table in front of her, carefully studying the shadow her fist cast against the wood. Karma shrugged, her shoulders stiff.

"It does, if you think about it. The fallout from the chemical weapons devastated us. What's one troop of soldiers in comparison to winning the entire invasion?"

Irelia remained stubborn in her belief, shaking her head.

"Don't you know who that is in there? "She asked, jerking her thumb towards the back of the house.

"She's not just some soldier, or a casualty Noxus can afford. She _is_ Noxus."

Karma sighed.

"I've long since given up hope on ever understanding anything Noxus does. All I know is the location of the chemical attack was precisely where Riven was and no one was ever sent to retrieve her squad. Noxus wanted her dead, Irelia. To win the invasion."

Irelia turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, clearly unsatisfied with being proven wrong. Karma watched her go, waiting a few minutes until she was sure Irelia wasn't coming back, and then retiring to her own room.

And all of this, Riven listened to in absolute silence. A few moments ago, she wasn't even sure who she was, where she was, why she was here, why everything_ hurt_. And now, she was faced with being betrayed by the country she lived and, apparently, died for.

Riven wasn't sure if she couldn't breathe because of her ruined lungs, or because she had nothing left to breathe for.

She stayed in that unfamiliar bed for the rest of the night, unable to move and unwillingly to think. Sleep was not merciful enough to grace her with its presence, so she sat and tried to count all the different places on her body that hurt.

She had hardly catalogued half the pains that plagued her when she heard someone, whoever had saved her, she guessed, stop outside the door to her room. Riven quickly snapped her eyes shut, not bothering to adjust her breathing to feign sleep since it was so ragged and uneven anyway.

One of the women she heard talking last night, she guessed, maneuvered her hand under Riven's head, tilting her head forward. She placed a cup against Riven's chapped lips, tilting slightly, just enough to wet them.

Riven couldn't help herself; her mouth opened wider, allowing the woman to pour the rest of the cup's contents slowly into her mouth. Whatever it was, the liquid was cool and smooth and almost instantly quelled the fire that had been Riven's throat. She lifted a blistered hand, pushing the cup upwards and downing the rest of what was inside. The woman moved the empty cup away from her face, placing a hand on Riven's chest and gently pushing her back down towards the bed.

"You're very injured. Please rest."

Riven was only too happy to comply, the mystery liquid soothing her pains but dragging down her eyelids, pushing her closer and closer towards sleep.

Riven had no way of knowing had much time had passed since she fell asleep. Judging by the lack of pain and gummy way her eyes and mouth felt when she opened them, it had been a significant amount. She tried to take in her surroundings, but everything that wasn't bathed in the slight glow of the moon shining through a single, small window, was shrouded in absolute darkness.

She tried to think.

Judging from what she had heard whenever she was last awake, and the fact that the room she was in was actually comfortable, she was still in Ionia.

Which meant she was in big trouble.

She had to leave, she knew, but she couldn't go back to Noxus. She didn't think she could really go to any well-known city; her face and reputation were quite infamous. She was starting to panic, evident in the way her breathing hitched and stuttered even though she hadn't moved yet.

Which, at this moment, seemed like the best thing to do.

She paused to listen to the house around her; she couldn't hear anything, no sign of anyone else being in the house with her. She then gingerly, oh so carefully, swung one leg over the side of her bed. Besides a slight tugging on skin that felt a lot tighter than usual, Riven felt fine. Nothing was burning and nothing was blistered. She threw the other leg after the first, trying to increase her speed now that she had assessed the damage (or lack thereof) sustained to her limbs.

She carefully placed both feet onto the wooden floor, and padded silently to the door. She put her ear against the door; absolute silence. She twisted the knob, swinging it open slowly, heart beating almost painfully in her chest. She slunk from the door down a very short hallway, darker than the room she had left. She paused at the end, slowly easing her face around the corner.

The hallway was connected to a small sitting room, devoid of chairs and decorated only by one small table surrounded by cushions. It was empty. Deciding once and for all that she was, indeed, alone, Riven stood up and almost ran for the door on the opposite side of the living room. She yanked the door open, jogging into the night.

She wasn't sure what, exactly, made her stop and hesitate, and to turn back to the house, but she was never happier that she did. Leaning against the house, glinting very dimly in the moon's light, was her beloved rune sword. She paused to grab it, once more stopping to listen to the night around her, then sprinted away into the forest from where she had come, once so close to death.

It never felt so good to be free.

Days later, Riven was still confined to the forests of Ionia. She'd been trying to plan out her next move, where she could go, what place left in this world that would want and accept her.

She was having a very tough time coming up with answers.

This had left her plenty of time to dwell on how she ended up here in the first place. The women she had heard talking, they said that Singed did this. That he had orchestrated the attack centered around Riven's unit. That Noxian command had allowed it.

That by simply being in proximity to her, Riven's squad had died painfully and slowly.

The injustice and shame burned worse than anything Singed could ever inflict on her.

She sat alone in a forest that was altogether unfamiliar to her, stranded in a country that she had helped invade. And she knew, beyond a doubt, that Noxus was in the wrong. That she had fought on the wrong side, had murdered for corrupt people and broken ideals. Her squad didn't deserve to their fates. Ionia didn't deserve to be ruined.

She didn't deserve to live, when everyone else had died.

She stared at her rune sword, the only thing she had left in the world. The perfect reminder of where she came from and the only thing she was good for; death and destruction.

Riven grabbed the hilt of her sword, dragging it through the forest until she found was she was looking for.

She lifted the sword, high enough for it to catch the slim light that filtered through the dense canopy above her. It was beautiful, really. The green runes were always slightly alight, the craftsmanship was impeccable, and the metal it was forged from was perfect in every way.

Riven lifted it just slightly higher, adjusting her grip, then swung it downwards, smashing the sword against the rock she'd found below.

The sword shattered, the sound of a million shards of metal being wrenched apart a magnificent melody to Riven's weary and shamed ears. Never again would the sword kill. Never again would she be controlled, used as a tool and a weapon.

And for the first time in her life, Riven truly felt right.


	11. Inconclusive

There wasn't a single physical thing in this world that Vel'Koz couldn't see

He could tell you, if he were so inclined, the number of atoms in your hand, what the sun's rays looked like in wavelengths, how the muscles in your arms looked when you twitched, all the places in Noxus that housed spies and all the soldiers in Demacia that snuck away from their barracks at night. He could tell you exactly how many people there were on the forsaken planet the void had spit him out on, down to the very last meat bag.

But he couldn't tell you how their minds worked.

Vel'koz had no difficulty examining the chemicals these human's brains produced, the synapses that that fueled their very thoughts and reactions. But he couldn't pinpoint what exactly defined each person. What made, for example, one person chose to valiantly die for their country, not a doubt in their mind about the right of it, but made another run in terror, shame fueling his retreat?

What made some people nasty where others were helpful, sadistic and cruel where others were gentle and kind?

He'd made interesting discoveries during his experiments, but none so far had earned him any insight towards this curious conundrum. Dissection proved inconclusive, interrogation only left him with more unanswered questions. The nuances that made up human nature, it seemed, were not easily found.

But he was determined.

He made sure he had a variety of new subjects for his next set of experiments. Males, females, old, young, nice and mean and generous. He had them all. Vel'Koz studied them night and day, for hours on end; he took careful mental notes about the personalities and subtle differences that defined one's attitude from another. He watched them eat, sleep, and interact. The first part of the experiment was arduous and uncomfortable for him; but he had to know everything about his subjects.

And he did.

He knew that one cried every night but that the rest sulked in silence, he knew that one female was sensitive to tasting salt in her foods, that some used to donate their spare time to the needier of the humans while others spent it working and sleeping. He was satisfied with the insight he'd gained. It was time to begin experimentation.

The female that preferred salt.

Specific dissection of the tongue and gustatory complex revealed that it was biological, not her nature, to crave sodium; an aberration in her taste buds.

The man who cried at night, was more difficult; a slight enlargement of the amygdala.

These distinctions, Vel'koz could attribute to physical differences. But they were not the answers he was looking for, because he still couldn't tell you why the older female preferred to help those she deemed needy, and the younger males scoffed at the notion. No matter how many dissections and interrogations he subjected them to, Vel'koz could still not see. Human nature frustrated him immensely, but he would not give up. The void had sent him here, and he would succeed. He always did.

He needed new subjects.


	12. Friends in Low Places

Jobs usually didn't take him to such strange places.

He didn't know how stealing blueprints for some hextech thing or another ended up with him in the forest, but hey. Money is money. And hell knows he could use more of it.

Still, the forest was creepy.

"Did it have to be a night job?"

He could hardly see anything; the flashlight he had with him did little to pierce the inky darkness. Sure enough, he had just enough light to unsettle him. The canopy was all twisted tree limbs curved into hands, clawing the sky and dipping below as if to snatch people off the path. The path itself was overgrown and thin, twisting between gnarled tree trunks decked with thorns and vines. He tried not to look off the path; the scarce light he had seemed to be reflecting off too many things to be natural. The air was just as thin as the roots that snatched at his feet, and sharp when he inhaled. The air felt wrong, somehow… Underneath the stench of rotting plants was something else, something decidedly more sinister.

The man shook his head, berating himself. The _air_ was sinister, sure. He chuckled at his foolishness, but increased his pace anyway, tightening his arms around himself.

The night dragged on very slowly, or so he thought. Was he on the right path? He didn't want to stop for the night in the middle of the forest, and he was too far to turn back. He silently cursed his employer.

He was busy trying to peer through the veil of darkness, searching for any sign that he was nearing the edge of the forest, when he was yanked roughly to the earth below him. He couldn't move his legs; using his puny flashlight, he flicked the beam downwards to reveal thick, thorny vines constricting his ankles. He tugged at his feet again, but that only seemed to anger the plants, who twisted tighter.

He reached around himself to grab the backpack strung across his shoulders; he knew he had a knife in there somewhere. He rummaged through the contents, around the blueprints until finally locating the knife with his finger. He swore, shaking the digit that flung small droplets of blood onto the vines below.

And just like that, his feet were free.

He stared, stunned, as the plants that had been vehemently gripping his legs slithered through the leaves that littered the ground and off the path, into the darkness.

He kept staring, until he realized his mouth was still open.

It was then that he heard a very quiet noise in the forest off to his left. Was that… Crying? He swallowed passed the lump in his throat, too paralyzed to move for a moment. But there it was again, so lilting and strange..

He had to find it.

He stumbled forwards on his hands and knees until he was off the path, stopping only once to stand once he was inside the tree line. It was so different there, so dark and comforting… He continued forward with a smile on his face, the crying still beckoning him forward and the air brushing slowly passed his face, caressing it. He was so close, the crying, it was right there…

There! In the smallest of openings in the trees, a small woman, hunched in on herself and still weeping. Despite the cloudiness in his head, the man almost tripped forward, holding out a hand in an effort to help.

"Miss, are you alone? Do you have any friends you came here with? Where are they?"

The woman shuddered, her frail shoulders shaking mightily.

And then she turned around.

A twisted, wicked grin stretched across her face, her eyes glinting sickeningly in what little light there was. She was covered in thorns that refused to scratch her skin, thorns that writhed in the ground around her, lifting and encircling her.

Caressing.

And he realized, not crying.

Laughing.

She was laughing at him.

She giggled again, the sound increasing the confusion that gripped his mind and whipping the foliage around them into a frenzy of unnatural movement. He tried to track the vines that flitted here and there but his eyes saw double, triple, his mind was so slow, so slow… And she commanded his attention, what little there was, but he tried to resist… The gaze of the weak returned to her.

"Where are_ your_ friends? Mine are all around."


	13. Irelia & Karma short, Chp 11 continued

"She isn't there."

Of course. Of _course_ she was gone. Because if she was here, where she was supposed to be, Irelia's job would be easy. She wouldn't have to explain to her higher ups how she managed to lose a bedridden, injured survivor of a biological war. She wouldn't have to explain how she would end up searching the forest for days, finding nothing but what she assumed was half of Riven's broken sword.

But Irelia didn't sign up for easy.

"You were supposed to be watching her."

Irelia tried to sound accusing, but when directing the tone at someone like Karma, it was nearly impossible.

She didn't even shrug.

"It was not our place."

This, though, helped fuel Irelia's growing frustration. Her blades twitched.

"She was the spearhead of the Noxian invasion, and Command's lapdog. With her here we wouldn't have to worry about Noxus and we could stop watching our backs. Ionia would be safe!"

In a way unique to Karma, she did not move and her placid face revealed no emotion.

"They betrayed her, Irelia. You know was well as I, she does not associate herself with Noxus any longer. By all that is right, she is forgiven."

Irelia paced the small living in the house that used to hold Riven, and that she and Karma shared. Her work boots were loud against the wood floors; she vaguely wondered if she was scratching it. She dug her fingers into her, panic and frustration prompting her to pull it out. The blades shuddered and pressed themselves flat against her back.

Deep breaths.

She loosened her hold, smoothing her hair and confining her hands to her hips. Her blades loosened their position.

"How can you forgive what she's done?"

Karma moved only her eyes; piercing green eyes that took hold of Irelia and carried what she said with the weight of the world.

"Riven will be back, and when she is, she will explain to you all you need to know. But everyone deserves another chance, Irelia. I should think that point would be readily obvious, to you especially."

Karma never said anything viciously, but her words still cut her and left her face burning with chagrin, blades dipping low behind her. Karma calmly took her leave, sliding the door open silently and slipping outside, leaving Irelia to her thoughts.

She tried to see it from Karma's view, as impossible as it was. It was true that Riven was set up, that her commanding officers had sent her to war with the specific intention of murdering her and her squad for a better chance at victory. As beloved by her country as she was, Riven became nothing more to them than a means to an end. Irelia tried to envision what it would be like if Ionia, what she lived and died and lived again for, could so easily slaughter her and her soldiers to ensure the slaughter of others.

She felt sick.

She knew now, that Riven would never go back to Noxus. She knew, like Karma said, the guilt she felt that weighed down here every step would drive her back to them, in search of absolution. She knew that when the time came, Irelia would give it to her. Karma was right.

Because put in her position, Irelia knew she would be right alongside Riven, begging the forgiveness that would set her free.


	14. Under the Cherry Tree

Akali hadn't been this happy since her mother had died.

It was the kind of day that she liked most; calm and breezy, very light and relaxed. The kind that had never seen strife or worry, one that made you forget there ever could be. Akali lived for these rare days.

She liked to have the time for herself, but those few days she could spend with Shen… They were something else entirely.

She knew that their time together was different for her than for him, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Shen was calm and intelligent, and liked most to indulge Akali when she bombarded him with questions. Naturally, she was a very curious person.

On this particular day, Akali was feeling a bit more brave than usual. The two were reclining in the garden reserved for her, Shen, and Kennen, Shen meditating and Akali watching the sky. She'd run through a litany of "what if" scenarios to Shen, carefully contemplating his most recent answer.

"You'd really rather be covered in spiders than in snakes?"

Shen smiled, eyes still closed.

"They're really very small. Nothing to be afraid of."

Akali shuddered, imagining hundreds of tiny spider legs tiptoeing across her skin. Her curiosity, for the moment, was sated. However, her attention was quick to wander.

She'd drawn countless pictures in the clouds, examined every bird that flew by and every leaf that fell from the trees around her. She tilted her head to the left, realizing she was rather close to the trunk of one of the cherry trees.

Trees, spiders…

She inched farther to her right.

Letting her head fall that way, her nose almost came into contact with Shen's knee. Instead of moving away, she propped her head up on her hand, staring at Shen's incredibly serene face.

She'd found something new to spark her curiosity.

His breathing was perfectly even, chest rising and falling at exact intervals. His eyes didn't move, his muscles didn't move. Very deep in meditation.

"Is there something on my face?"

Or so she thought. She looked away, ignoring how warm her cheeks had gotten.

"Spiders!"

She wiggled her fingers in his direction, earning a quiet laugh. Normally, she would have kept quiet after that, but the very air that day seemed to be edging her on.

"Just appreciating the view."

Shen opened one eye just a slit, just for a moment, to peer at Akali.

"It's very beautiful in the garden today."

Akali's mouth twitched just slightly in unhappiness. She moved back to her earlier position, arms out to the side and eyes on the sky.

"I suppose."

He gestured around them.

"The sky, the trees, the birds…" Eyeing each in turn. He took a rather loud breath.

"You."

Akali practically choked on the air she was trying to inhale. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, meeting his for a moment. She returned her gaze to the sky, heart beating slightly faster now.

Shen laughed.

"I was under the impression that's what you wanted to hear. Forgive my forwardness."

Deep breaths. Swallow. One more breath. She closed her eyes, willing herself to speak.

"I've waited a very long time to hear it. But I'd rather you say it because you mean it, not because I want you to."

Shen laughed again, that quiet chuckle that made her stomach flutter.

"I assure you," he said, and she felt the faintest brush of a hand sweep away the hair that covered her cheek.

"I mean it."


	15. Tonight, We Hunt

"He isn't here; hasn't been for a while."

Rengar tried to ignore the voice, continuing to sniff along a certain fern frond that was bent in a very particular way.

His face twisted. The scent was old.

"I told you so." Very smug.

He chose to studiously ignore the voice, checking the surrounding foliage for anything else that would indicate Kha'Zix had been here. As he expected, there was nothing. The damn bug was nothing if not careful.

He heard someone fall very lightly to the ground behind him. The footsteps approached where he was standing, coming to a stop behind his left shoulder. She leaned around him, hair falling around his face.

"That doesn't look very effective."

He'd been fiddling with a bola trap, something he'd recently picked up but hadn't perfected. His inexperience showed in the ties that weren't quite crisp enough, the overall limping appearance of the trap.

He grabbed it from where it lay sadly on the ground, stuffing it back into his pouch.

"I could teach you how to use bushwhacks; it's simple, really. I don't mind helping."

The voice was insistent and so very, _very_ smug, the superior tone grating on his nerves like nothing else in the world could. He cringed away from the rough voice and long hair, continuing forward and trying to look for a different place that Kha'Zix may have left another clue. He really wanted to be as thorough as possible, but she… _Nidalee_ was still following him, like she had absolutely nothing better to occupy her time with. She twirled her javelin as they walked, casually glancing around at the pristine jungle.

"If he was in this part of the jungle recently, I'd know."

Rengar didn't look up from the foliage, but snorted.

"But you knew he was here before; something you neglected to tell me."

She laughed, more of a purr than anything.

"My time was otherwise occupied."

"You're very busy, I'm sure."

He moved higher, above the underbrush and into the thick canopy above them. Bugs loved trees, didn't they?

The sound of paws lightly landing on the branches behind him made him flinch.

He'd avoid Nidalee all together, if it were possible. But anywhere he went in the jungle, she was there, self-proclaimed protector of cougars or something. It was impossible to hunt without her knowing. He was loathe to admit it, but Nidalee was an excellent hunter, and tracker to boot. If Kha'Zix was in the jungle, she'd know.

Getting her to tell him what she knew, however, was a whole different story. Apparently the protector of cougars had a lot of free time, because she took extra care to make sure she found Rengar whenever he visited the jungle, and then proceeded to follow him around for the duration of his stay.

Her scathing sarcasm and dry wit were not something he enjoyed when he was trying to focus.

All his attempts to avoid him were ultimately futile, since he couldn't easily lose her in her own jungle and didn't have the time to sneak around. He was sure if he did, anyway, he'd have the luck to step on one of her bushwhacks.

He considered swallowing his pride, for just a moment, and asking her to show him how to make a proper trap. He tried very hard to ignore the sour taste in his mouth, and decided Kha'Zix was too smart to fall for traps anyway. He was busy contemplating another way to catch Kha'Zix on his rare visits to the jungle when he heard Nidalee pause behind him, growl, and take off in another direction. He stopped moving through the trees. Every time he'd been to the jungle, Nidalee was there from the moment he arrived to the second he left; she'd easily followed him for days on end before.

And now she was leaving?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing himself, but followed her anyway. She was very fast, and it took him a moment or two until he caught up. She was perched on a slender branch, tail whipping back and forth in agitation or anger, he couldn't tell.

Sprawled on a limb in the tree across from where she was sitting was the ruined carcass of a tawny cougar, ripped apart into nearly unrecognizable pieces.

Anger, then.

Rengar, however, was delighted, the thrill of the hunt exciting his muscles. This was _Kha'Zix's_ kill, and it was recent, too. The body was still warm! He quickly made his way over to it, examining the marks to make absolutely sure that the kill belonged to Kha'Zix. The messy way the body was cleaved to make eating easier, but clean, efficient technique used to kill it clearly indicated Kha'Zix. This was the closest he'd been to the damn void bug in months. He leapt off the branch, catching the scent of the void that clung sickeningly to the leaves around him. He was here, he was _close._

The hunt was imminent.


	16. Talon short, chp 5 continued

Talon had a problem.

He was doing a lot of things he'd never done before; lying to Marcus, returning to the slums even though he wasn't sent there, purposely staying away from home to avoid answering unwanted questions about his competency.

Failing at his job.

That night at the dinner party, the night that_ spy_ escaped him. It was long over and done, but it still nagged at his mind in a very inconvenient way. He'd never let someone sneak into his house without leaving in a body bag. He'd never let a spy go without a knife or two lodged somewhere important.

Until now.

And he'd been so _close_, so close to capturing this artisan of espionage that had eluded his grasp. He still didn't quite understand what had happened. He had followed her when she left the dinner party, when he's first been sure that he saw her disguise falter. And she was trapped; the bathroom was at the end of a hall and didn't let out anywhere. His next action was rather silly; he'd knocked on the door, not sure why he expected a response. He waited just a second, and opened the door.

To nothing.

It was empty, definitely not big enough to hide an entire person. And he was sure that she was in here; there were no other rooms between here and the dining room that he hadn't checked first.

It was impossible, but she was gone.

And of course he had to explain his actions to the General; it was very unlike talon to up and run from a room without explanation. Although Marcus didn't say it outright, Talon could tell he was more than disappointed in his failure to capture the spy.

But no more than Talon was disappointed in himself.

He couldn't stay in Noxus, and he couldn't come back until he had some new information. Since he wasn't on a job, that left one place for him to be; The Institute.

Honestly, he didn't enjoy being there at all. It was too loud and too crowded for his tastes, and quite frankly, the people were just plain weird. He wasn't just talking about the champions, either. The Summoners were skeezy looking commoners in long robes that always seemed to be looking passed you, even while making eye contact.

Despite being typically quite macho, they gave Talon the creeps.

He really didn't have a particular objective in mind today, and allowed himself to be carried along with the general flow of traffic inside the Institute. He passed champion rooms, Summoner's quarters, quite a few training areas that sparked his interest. He ended up in the cafeteria of sorts, slightly dismayed at how packed it was. His usual spot (way in the back, conveniently located in the only shaded corner) was currently occupied by a very small, very dark yordle, who's arms were crossed and studiously trying to ignore the other yordle with the huge hat yammering off at his left ear.

He steered clear.

The only easily accessible spot he could find was practically in the middle of the room, and seating more than one Demacian, he could tell. He grabbed his food and sulked to the seat, pulling his hood down low and trying to finish the meal as fast as possible.

Clearly, not fast enough.

The girl to his left elbowed his arm in the midst of some gesture absolutely required by the conversation she was having, knocking Talon's fork across the table. He huffed an agitated sigh, not bothering to retrieve it and beginning to leave instead.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry!"

The girl whipped around in a flurry of long blonde hair and vanilla, nearly hitting Talon in the face. He almost – _almost_ – let the clearly Demacian girl have it, but he found he couldn't quite speak at the moment.

Her eyes.

They were big and shiny and so _blue,_ so deeply alive and intelligent.

And currently focused on his face like he was insane.

"Er, are you okay?"

Talon realized he'd been staring very creepily at her face with his mouth open. A lack of composure wasn't Talon's thing, had never been, but he couldn't stop himself from stammering.

_This_ was the spy! This small slip of a Demacian girl, all blonde and frail and pretty was the mastermind that had eluded him. He couldn't believe it.

"It's you- You're the spy!"

And he knew he was right, because those telltale eyes widened in shock and she let out a very unladylike curse under her breath.

"Well, shit. "


	17. Beneath the Waves

Like any other pirate worth their salt, Miss Fortune knew there was treasure lost somewhere beneath the waves. And like every other pirate in Bilgewater, she had no idea where it was.

But she knew who did.

Every night Sarah Fortune would sit on the edge of her ship, dangle her feet above the surf and watch the moon. She always made sure she was moored close to shore, close to an area full of treacherous rocks and shallow tide pools. They attracted some pretty interesting things: eels, dolphins, seals, every color of fish you could imagine…

Mermaids.

Sarah was fond of moon watching because apparently, so were mermaids. Or one particular mermaid, to be specific. Nami loved staring at the moon with those big amber fish eyes of hers, and she really loved all the tiny tide pools stuck between the rocks. Hence why Sarah risked ruining her ship to be near them.

The Marai Mermaid would spend hours flitting from one pool to another, talking to the fish. It was interesting to watch, really. Sarah herself enjoyed watching the lionfish. But she had bigger fish to fry, so to speak.

Naturally, Nami wasn't all that friendly with pirates. She preferred quieter, less illegally inclined friends that maybe didn't smell so much like alcohol. She guessed she didn't mind Sarah all that much though. She was clean and smart and was a little bit sneakier about how she made her money. She was pleasant to talk to, also. Most of the time, she actually seemed to care about what Nami was saying, and not even the treasure parts too.

But mostly, she was only interested in the treasure.

She wanted to know all about it: whose was it, what it was, how much did Nami think it was worth, _where _was it. Nami knew the locations of hundreds of shrunken ships that knew for a fact had dragged a lot of valuable stuff to the bottom of the ocean. It was fun finding them.

It was more fun messing with Sarah.

This particular night Nami was at the beach very early, just hardly passed moon rise. Sarah saw her hunched over a tide pool, standing (was it considered standing?) very still. Sarah left her spot on her ship to traverse the rocks below, to where Nami was. She found her coddling a rather plump starfish, murmuring to it for a moment before placing it oh so gently back in the water. She looked up at Sarah, grinning, the small fins around her face waving just slightly.

"He says the water is colder than he's used to. And dirtier."

Sarah shrugged. "He's a starfish. I don't think he gets to be picky."

Nami flipped the tip of her tail, most of which was in the tide pool she'd plucked the starfish from. Water splashed outwards, landing on Sarah's clothes.

"It _is_ dirtier."

Sarah grimaced at her shirt.

Nami paid no attention, fixing those big eyes on the moon. Her tail flicked slowly through the water, making it undulate and splash over the sides of the pool. Altogether, very peaceful. And quiet.

"How's the moon treating you?"

Nami giggled.

"I can talk to the fish, not the moon."

Sarah thought she sounded rather wistful.

"How's Bilgewater treating you?"

It was Sarah's turn to laugh.

"The beer is crap, the people are crap, the pay is crap. So quite nicely, I'd say."

Nami grinned. "Piracy, not enjoyable? I'd never have imagined."

Sarah chose not to respond; talking about how very wrong it was to be a pirate was Nami's favorite thing to do, but for Sarah… Not so much. Truthfully, she loved everything about it. The terrible people, smelly ports, the overall shady quality of her work. Who wouldn't want to be a pirate?

The sound of Nami's tail smacking against the water answered her question.

"I have something for you."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. This was new.

"Oh?"

Nami reached into the tide pool, fishing around in the sand for a moment.

"Listen, I'm sure your starfish is great and all but I-"

The mermaid held up a hand, silencing her, and pulled something that was definitely not a starfish from the water.

It was a very long, very old necklace, the gold chain dirty and sticky with algae. But the diamond, the diamond nearly as big as Nami's eyes that hung from the chain still glittered in the moonlight. Nami held it out to Sarah, another huge grin on her face.

"Cool, huh?"

Sarah took it wordlessly, about to ask if Nami was sure she wanted to give it away, but changed her mind and decided to remain silent.

Well, almost silent.

"Just for me? Nami, you're too kind."

The grin on her face turned into a very smug smirk, and when she answered, Sarah swore the mermaid had planned this whole night, down to every last reaction.

"Yeah the necklace is nice, but you should've seen the rest of it!"

She leaned backwards, spreading her arms across the sky, tail flipping out of the water.

"There was stuff everywhere!"

Sarah's eye twitched, the thought of so much money in one place nearly giving her an aneurysm.

"And you're not going to tell me where it is… Are you."

Nami smiled again.

"Nope! But he will."

Nami once again held out her hand, offering Sarah a small, purple starfish.


	18. I Miss the Warmth

"What's the moon saying tonight?"

Diana didn't even flinch at the sudden voice behind her. She was lost in the moons glow, had been for hours.

"She is silent."

Nami rested one arm against the rock Diana was on, leaning her head against it.

"She's always silent." Nami sighed sadly.

Diana glanced at the mermaid, eyes full of pity, eyes that had been graced by the moon. To live for the moon and be unable to speak to it… Tragedy.

"You're out a little late. Or early, I suppose. For you."

For a moment Diana was as quiet as the moon.

"Actually, I favor this time of day the most."

It was nice, in a secluded, quiet kind of way. Diana had picked a spot at the beach far away from where anyone but Nami would be able to reach, perched on the same rock as always. It was still dark out; the moon hadn't surrendered the sky to the sun just yet. The waves that rolled against the beach were black and hushed, sighing against the sand. Diana liked the quiet. She could sit there for hours, listening to the ocean and the moon. And Nami whenever she happened by.

Although Nami was rather loud, she was kind and made for very good company. She was also the only other person who would begin to understand Diana's attachment to the moon.

Well, almost the only one.

Nami waited until the waves began to glint against the sand, and Diana's hair started to shine.

"You don't usually stay _this_ long. Is something the matter?"

Again Diana remained silent, giving herself ample time to formulate a response.

"I miss it sometimes."

Nami frowned.

"You miss the beach? But you're always here."

Diana laughed, quiet as the waves.

"The sun."

The frown on Nami's face deepened. She missed the sun? It has just barely begun to rise, and already Diana was squinting against the light, muscles twitching and urging her away. She hated the sun. Why would she say she missed it, if she absolutely hated every single thing about it?

Oh. Not a _thing_.

Diana endured the sunlight until her eyes began to water, and until even Nami was getting uncomfortable. She stayed because somewhere, Leona was looking up at it and talking to it just like Diana had with the moon.

And for the only time in her life, Diana appreciated the light that warmed her skin.


	19. Lux & Talon short, chp 16 continued

Lux was scared.

Talon had followed her all the way from the mess hall, all the way to the room she had at the institute that was practically on the other side of the building. She was walking as fast as she could, studiously ignoring him, but it was no use.

He wouldn't give up.

She rounded on him in a hallway that was deserted, not quite to the room yet.

"What do you want from me? You can't drag me back to Noxus; the League forbids its champions from fighting, and you can't kill me. You know I won't tell you anything. Why do you keep following me?"

Talon crossed his arms, his signature cowl once again shrouding his face.

"I could care less about taking you back to Noxus, and I don't care about your life either. But no one has _ever_ escaped me before."

Lux rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop her heart from pounding. Regardless of the Leagues strict rules about the champions killing each other, Talon was the best assassin in Noxus, and they were alone. He could make Lux disappear and no one would ever know. She tried her best to sneer, but it felt wrong, her usual bravado abandoning her.

"Spies don't reveal their secrets. You of all people should know."

He kept his arms crossed and mouth shut, waiting for a better answer. Lux was by far the most skilled spy he'd ever met from Demacia, and he was more than intrigued. It burned him that the small blonde had bested him, and he didn't plan on letting her go before learning something, _anything._ She tried to turn away again, but he dashed behind her, blocking the hallway. She jumped, not quite catching the swift movement, and tried to back away from him.

"I had you cornered; like now. How did you get away?"

Lux had to decide if she wanted to be trapped in this hallway with him forever, or maybe reveal a little bit of Demacian intel. What did she care, anyway? She had no love for the Demacian military she was forced into, and she had a feeling Talon wasn't going to take it straight to Noxian Command anyway. They couldn't hurt her even if he did.

She twirled the baton she always had at her side, trying to smile coyly.

"Light bending has interesting effects on people."

It wasn't the answer Talon had expected. She used the tip of the baton to move him slightly out of the way, continuing on to her room. If she could just _get_ there, she could lock herself away until Talon left and leave for Demacia in the morning, so she wouldn't have to deal with the irritating Noxian anymore. She cringed when she heard his light footsteps behind her, and tried to increase her pace.

But there was no outrunning Talon.

"But why? The party was useless; it was airhead aristocrats talking about their disappointing lives… There was nothing to learn. There was no reason to be there."

Lux's mouth twisted and she tried to walk faster. It's not like she had _wanted_ to be there. There were a million other things she'd have rather been doing, a million other places she wanted to be. She didn't want to be in Noxus that night, dressed up as some old woman from Zaun.

She didn't even want to be in Demcacia.

She was at her room now, immediately reaching for the doorknob. She wasn't quick enough, couldn't disappear before Talon grabbed the hand not white knuckling the baton.

"_Why?_"

She whipped around, yanking her hand from his grasp. She tried to control herself, but her throat was tight and her eyes were stinging uncomfortably.

"Because they _made_ me. You think I had a choice, that I would _want_ to spy on your family?"

Her voice was venom and malice, the resentment she felt for the people who had forced her into service manifesting in her tone towards Talon. Lux couldn't see his face, and he hadn't reacted in any way to what she said. She wasted no time in disappearing into her room, leaving him behind.

She was forced? It sounded very out of place when describing the Demacian military, but he didn't know enough about its politics to be sure. He didn't pity her, but he was… intrigued. If she was so unhappy, why did she stay? How was she forced into the military in the first place? And _how_ did the light bending work?

He had to know.


	20. Before the Night is Out

_**A/N: Hey guys! Surprise update :] I might try to upload small stories here and there, but I'm still working on my other fic and I've actually started tentatively writing another one, so no promises. Sorry :c**_

_**Anyways, hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

Graves was very drunk.

He'd been even drunker a handful of times, and he was steadily working his way to that status; the smoky room was growing stuffier, the dim light swinging above him growing all the more muted. The only feeling that was sharply retained was the press of his gun lying across his right leg and the anger that burned slow and hot in his chest.

Because Twisted Fate was also drunk, also sitting at the small table and drowning himself in an amber liquid gulped from murky glasses. He swirled the glass with his left hand without looking away from Graves, his right arm hanging loosely and covered in stiff, dried blood.

They were drunk, but Graves never missed.

They were surprisingly quiet, both content to drink themselves away; Graves, more to fuel his anger, Twisted Fate to dull the steady throb that was his arm. There would be no whisking himself out of this one; Graves lowered his glass in favor of a yellow card spattered with blood, idly flipping it through his fingers like Fate had showed him; prettily enough, but without the same finesse that the man across from him commanded. Graves eventually stuffed the dingy card into his jacket and picked up his cigar from where it burned slowly in the ash tray on the table and sticking it between his lips, taking a small drag and blowing the smoke over the table towards Fate.

"Ain't no runnin this time."

Fate replied with another pull of his drink, then setting the glass on the table with a dull click.

"No, not this time."

Graves stared until Twisted Fate began to sway, his eyes drooping closed and his breathing beginning to slow. He grinned, moving his gun from where it rested on his leg and jabbing Twisted Fate sharply in his injured arm, smiling wider around his cigar when he flinched awake. He wasn't done with the man; there would be much more to come before the night was over.

"Don't die on me yet."


	21. Business as Usual

Garen did not invite people over to his new apartment.

Even Lux hardly opted out of the commute most days, so the fact that there was very clearly a woman waiting outside of his apartment door was more worrying than anything else. He was halfway into saying Lux's name when the shadowy figure leaning against the wall looked up, holding a finger to her lips.

"Shush, you'll wake up someone important."

There was a flash of green eyes and scarlet hair beneath the woman's hood, and Garen tripped on the way to the door.

"Are you insane? What are you doing here?"

Kat's answering laugh proved that she very clearly was, but nothing about Garen's reaction or the fact that she was lounging casually in the apartment complex given to the Dauntless Vanguard seemed to bother her. He caught a brief glimpse of a smirk in the shadow beneath her hood, and she gestured impatiently to the keys in his hand.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

He hardly registered the sarcasm dripping from her voice, trying his best to unlock his door while his hands shook. He glanced nervously down the empty hallway more than once, convinced that at any second another member of the Vanguard or the king was going to walk down the hall and arrest him for harboring a Noxian assassin.

_Harboring an assassin._ God.

He pushed Kat inside when he got the door open, and she was quick to unbutton the hood around her shoulders and toss it onto the chair in front of Garen's desk. She walked deeper into the small room, letting her eyes trail lazily over the sparse furniture and nonexistent décor. She almost absentmindedly pulled a dagger from one of the leather straps on the side of her pants, letting it drag loudly across the top of the desk while she walked passed it, narrowing her eyes at the room.

"Not a lot of living space."

She glanced over to where Garen was standing by the door long enough to shoot him a rather sarcastic smile before letting her eyes drift somewhere else. She let her dagger finish carving a shallow line across the desk before carefully placing it back into the only empty strap on her leg, walking over to Garen's bed and flopping down on the blanket. She very politely kept her boots off of the duvet but laid on her back across the pillows, closing her eyes as she placed both of her hands behind her head.

"Mine's better."

Garen narrowed his eyes as she made herself even more comfortable than before, wondering for possibly he millionth time since walking through the apartment door what was going on.

"Now would be a very good time to explain what you're doing here."

Her answering grin was almost predatory, and Garen immediately regretted asking her.

"I'm here on business, actually."

Garen had a hard time convincing himself that "business" was only sneaking into his apartment and that it had nothing to do with her usual day job, and he shifted nervously on his feet.

"I don't understand what I have to do with it."

He really didn't; if she was here to kill him, she was doing a terrible job thus far, and he couldn't think of another reason for her to be sneaking around military apartments. She shrugged like the answer should be obvious, cracking an eye open to make her next sentence that much more patronizing.

"I've decided I like you."

And that was it, like that sentence alone explained everything and Garen shouldn't have a million questions now. It was hard for him not to throw his hands up in frustration, and hard to pretend like her words didn't make his stomach flutter in the weirdest way.

"You know that doesn't make sense."

Kat shrugged again like it wasn't her problem he didn't understand, freeing a hand from behind her head and opening her other eye. She pulled the same dagger out of its sheath again, and began flipping it in the air above her scarred eye, easily catching it the moment before it connected with her skin. Garen flinched every time the dagger fell back into her hand, but thought better of asking her to be careful and simply waited for her to finish whatever she came here to do. He knew she couldn't stay long; as good as she was at her job, she couldn't stay in Demacia forever without someone eventually noticing she was here.

"Both of us were pulled permanently out of Kalamanda, and it's not like you're ever coming to Noxus."

Garen still looked like none of what she was saying was shedding any light on why she was currently playing catch with knives in his bed, and she sighed in exaggerated exasperation.

"I'm interested."

She impatiently waited for a response, explaining a little further when it didn't appear there was going to be one.

"In you."

She didn't look too pleased at having to repeat herself, but most of her sour attitude was assuaged by the fact that as uncomfortable as she was, it didn't even come close to what Garen looked like; if she had to guess, she would say he was halfway between smiling and passing out. Kat stopped throwing the dagger and switched instead to twirling it between her fingers, giving the room another cursory glance, letting her eyes linger where Garen was still standing.

"I guess I'll get used to it."


	22. Lux & Talon short, chp 19 continued

**_A/N- As my last review suggested, I am clearly a little over the top with my love for Syndra/Zed, so I moved all the shorts with just them to their own story so that this story wasn't like 80% of my otp. I'll keep this story about other league champs or just singular shorts about Zed or Syndra, but if they're together I'll put it in the other fic._**

**_Hopefully that makes sense, and hopefully that cleans this story up a little. Enjoy!_**

* * *

"You've never followed me in here before."

Lux's voice was quiet and mostly mumbled, but loud enough that the target of her attention could just catch it- her target being Talon. He stepped out of the shadow of one of the larger bookcases at Lux's back, plopping in the armchair opposite of her with a huff. Lux glanced up just long enough to see him slump ridiculously low into the cushions, noting his terrible posture and that even though his legs were stretched nearly close enough to touch the bottom of her chair where her baton rested, he kept them pointed carefully away. She couldn't see the expression beneath his hood in the brief time she looked up, and she quickly turned her attention back to her book.

"I don't follow you anywhere."

Lux assumed he was joking –because they both knew better- but decided not to comment. He had stayed when she called him out as opposed to pretending he wasn't caught and just leaving, so clearly he wanted something. Lux waited as patiently as someone like her could, her eyes not really reading the words in front of her anymore.

"You read an awful lot about Noxus."

The corner of Lux's mouth twitched, and it was harder now to keep her eyes on her book. Interesting that he'd know what books she preferred, since he definitely wasn't following her around and all.

"It's my job."

Her patronizing tone didn't dissuade him from asking more questions like she had hoped.

"It's your job to know the history of Noxus? I thought you were more interested in keeping up to date with… current occurrences."

The bitterness in his tone almost made her smile, but she shrugged instead, like she already thought of him possibly asking that question and already prepared an answer.

Which she did.

"People read things for fun, you know."

It was like no one had spoken; Talon didn't move and didn't immediately respond, and Lux again thought sullenly about how her sarcasm was completely wasted on him.

"I have a question."

Lux rolled her eyes, finally shutting the book in her lap and giving him her attention.

"I undoubtedly have an answer."

Not that that meant she was _going_ to answer.

Talon inched one of his feet closer to Lux's chair, pointing to her baton but being excruciatingly careful not to touch it.

"Where did you get it?"

Lux blinked more than once at the question, slightly blindsided by the turn in conversation; she had been expecting something more along the lines of 'why was she spying on the Du Couteaus' again, and even though she very clearly knew the answer to his question, she wasn't going to tell him.

"Demacian secrets, I'm afraid. No Noxians allowed."

Lux thought that this time, her sarcastic banter might put an end to their rather… _forced _meeting, but she was sadly mistaken.

"You've spent too much time in Noxus to still be so proudly Demacian."

Lux rolled her eyes at the remark, hardly even deigning to dignify it with a response.

"I feel like we've been over this before, right? I wouldn't be in Noxus unless I was forced."

She made a mock sound that Talon assumed she was trying to make sound like she was dry heaving, and she petulantly stuck her tongue out at him. He tapped a finger on the armrest of his chair, smiling beneath the hood.

"And how great can Demacia be, if they forced a barely teenage girl to spy for them? In Noxus, no less."

His smile widened when Lux's mouth popped open into a small 'o', for once when talking to Talon (or anyone, for that matter) not having an available quip on the tip of her tongue. He finally stood up, walking much too close to her chair on his way out and offering one last comment over his shoulder.

"Pleasure talking to you."


	23. Everything the Sun Touched

**_A/N: Guest- Well I think if I wrote Akali exactly the way Riot did, there really wouldn't be a story. I think everyone writes the really emotionless, stoic –type champions a little OOC, because it's not fun (imo) reading about people who have no emotions and little to no interaction with other characters. I'm also of the opinion that Akali is mostly the silent and emotionless type when she's around strangers or people she's not familiar with, and when she's alone with Shen or Kennen, she's more relaxed and more herself. Again, just the way I see it._**

**_Derp- Thank you! Writing pairings is my favorite thing to do, and while I respect you not liking the Talon/Lux pairing (and others), I still like to write them. The chapters will always be clearly labeled so you can avoid them if you'd like in the future :]_**

* * *

His place in this world was gone.

Everything he was, everything he had… It was crushed and lost in the sand that shifted beneath his feet and clung to his robes, hidden beneath the rubble of his once-grand city. Azir continued to walk slowly through what he knew to be the former streets of Shurima; his talons clicked against the fractured stone and the wind whispered with the sand, but these were not the sounds he remembered. This was not the city he remembered.

He was not the man he remembered.

It was still so fresh to him, like his empire had only been there just yesterday; he could imagine the bustling streets, the sunshine armor of his soldiers, the laugh of his children and the touch of his wife. He could remember just as painfully the hubris that had blinded him to deceit and betrayal.

Azir stopped walking, and his fingers closed slowly into a fist. He tilted his head down to look, and although the sunlight that glinted off of his claws was blinding, he did not avert his gaze. The tighter his fist closed the more his hand shook, and although his anger could not show on his face (and would never again), the sands showed it for him; it swirled around his fingers and his feet, and the random whispering of before became a language he could not only understand, but one he could _feel._ He jerked the clenched hand upwards, and the sand followed, slowly and jaggedly at first, but when Azir turned there were not shifting heaps of sand behind him; there was his army, his soldiers, cloaked once again in their armor of sun and standing straight and tall and at attention. When Azir moved the fist, the soldiers followed, and when the soldiers fell, there were twice as many to take their place. Their attention was hollow and the sand had no loyalty, but they were his nonetheless.

The Shurima Azir remembered was lost, but not gone.

It was in every shift of the sands, every soldier that marched behind him, every inch of the desert that the sun shone on. His legacy was _here_; he would just have to find it.

He would unearth what had been lost.


	24. The Motive

Vi swirled her cooling cup of coffee in her hand, lifting it to her lips as she turned the page of the magazine in her lap, revealing another, but completely different, shiny, expensive motorcycle spread across the pages.

"Just fabulous."

She commented into the empty air in her best impression of Caitlyn's accent, snickering to herself as she flicked through the rest of the magazine without reading it, and then tossing it into a corner of Cait's office. She would get that later… probably. She kicked both of her boots onto Caitlyn's desk, smiling as she imagined the face she would have made if she was here and leaning back into her chair, propping her hands behind her head and closing her eyes.

It felt great to sleep on the job.

Just a quick nap before Her Majesty got back- there was nothing important going on, anyway. She was just starting to really drift into her nap when the office door swung open, not far enough to slam but with enough force that Vi felt it more than heard it open.

"Vi, I have something to- oh for the love of, get your feet off of the desk!"

Her dreadfully serious tone turned patronizing in the time it took Vi to open her eyes, and she smiled at Cait's face- exactly like she imagined.

"My apologies, Cupcake."

She let her boots fall heavily to the floor, and leaned across the desk on her elbows while she waited for Caitlyn's frown to drop.

"You were saying…?"

This was the point in the conversation that Caitlyn usually stopped scowling, but the stormy look didn't leave her face as she crossed the office, stopping in front of Vi.

"This is serious. Jinx is back- and she wants something this time."

Vi had never dropped a smile and grown so serious in such a short amount of time, and she barely had the presence of mind to answer her.

"What?"

Vi had meant more for Caitlyn to repeat herself than to literally answer her question, but she pulled a piece of paper from behind her back, sliding it across the desk to where it touched Vi's hands. Not paper, but a photo; a photo of the Piltover treasury, defaced with… _her_ face. It was painted sloppily in the painfully bright neon colors that Jinx loved the most, accompanied by a date and a time written in equally illegible writing. Vi's fingers tightened around the picture until it began to wrinkle, and Caitlyn said what she could not.

"You. She wants you."


	25. Graves short, not continued

Graves didn't get up to much nowadays.

He spent most nights burying dark thoughts in dark bottles in an even darker bar, and this particular night was no different; he was at the bottom of a bottle of something disgusting that made the room spin and the other silent denizens of the inn disappear, carefully thinking about nothing at all. He decided he was finished when the bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor, providing the only other noise in the room besides what the barkeep was doing and decorating the floor with even more debris. Graves clumsily dropped a handful of what he thought were the correct amount of coins to cover the drink on the shaky table before pushing away, taking extra care not to tip over the stool. Nobody looked up as he left and he didn't look anywhere other than the door, pushing it open despite its creaks of protest and welcoming the fresh air that washed away the musty odor of the bar.

Once outside, Graves reached into the inner pocket of his coat, his fingers searching for an unusually long amount of time before finally yielding a brand new cigar, and promptly sticking it between his teeth before rooting out a lighter. Fresh air was great, but cigars were better, and he exhaled in something close to happiness when he finally got it lit. He leaned heavily against the wall of the inn a few paces from the door, slowly working through the cigar and watching the empty street sway. It wasn't his usual level of drunkenness, having had a few extra bad memories he wanted to extinguish this night, and maybe that was why Graves didn't immediately notice that anything was off; the cold air was attributed more to an early fall than anything else, and that quiet, quiet voice in the back of his mind was certainly nothing new, until it became much louder and much more… influential, leaving him with a feeling that Graves wasn't sure he had words to name.

To call it anger did not do it justice.

It was so much more; it was all the anger he'd ever harbored, all the betrayal he'd ever felt, like suddenly he'd been burdened with the hate collected by countless, limitless amounts of other souls. The cigar dropped from his lips and littered the ground with glowing cinders as the voice whispering across his thoughts finally solidified into words he could understand.

_Give in to your hate, Graves._


	26. Vi & Cait short

**_A/N: As per the request of Guest. Hopefully you like it, "CaitxVi" is super vague :S_**

* * *

"Did you know the bakery on 5th is giving out free donuts?"

Vi's voice was much too loud for Caitlyn's tiny office, as per usual, but she'd nearly perfected the art of being able to respond to and ignore Vi all while still managing to complete her paperwork. It was an art, really. She didn't look up when Vi slammed her office door or when she dropped a very crumpled paper bag from said bakery on 5th, even when it scattered some of the papers she was trying to read.

"They're not free, Vi. They're just scared of you."

It was the lower murmur Caitlyn spoke in when she was busy and wanted Vi to be quiet, and she tapped her pen on the form in front of her while Vi made herself comfortable in the chair in front of her desk, staring at the frosted donut pinched between her fingers. Maybe Vi couldn't remember the wreck that the bakery had been the last time they were out of donuts, but Caitlyn had been stuck cleaning that mess for weeks.

"People are so sensitive. You break _one_ wall in their store _one_ time…"

So she _did_ remember.

Her voice trailed off as she bit into the desert, and the office was, for the moment, filled only with the sound of Caitlyn's pen scratching across paper and the abnormally noisy sounds of Vi eating. The almost-silence didn't last for long, and when Vi was finished what Caitlyn was sure was her fourth donut she loudly licked the tips of each of her fingers, making loud smacks each time she pulled one out of her mouth. On purpose, probably. Caitlyn cringed each time, finally dropping her pen and looking up with an exasperated sigh.

"Vi, please…"

Her voice trailed off when her gaze focused, catching Vi in the middle of licking a finger clean, pink icing smeared across the corner of her mouth. Her face had frozen in that expression, eyes wide, mouth open, tongue just hanging out of her mouth.

"What?"

Caitlyn rested her chin on the backs of her hands while Vi frowned, allowing only the very corner of her mouth to tilt upwards.

"You have a little…"

She referenced her own mouth, and Vi scrubbed that side of her face with the back of her hand, missing the spot completely. She rubbed harder when Caitlyn finally cracked a laugh, all the while pulling that sad, lost puppy look that Caitlyn would never admit she found endearing.

"You are utterly helpless."

She opened a drawer on the side of her desk, pulling out a napkin and leaning across the top of the desk to clean the icing off of Vi's face herself. Vi sat perfectly still while she worked, the downwards tilt of her mouth relaxing the longer she looked at Caitlyn's face that had replaced its smile with the tiny frown she got when she was concentrating. Vi completely dropped the pout when Caitlyn was finished, touching the spot that was now sticky-free and grinning widely.

"Thanks, Cupcake."


	27. Nami & Nautilus short

**_A/N: Requested by Ulcaasi c:_**

**_Onionsbutter- YOU ARE VERY WELCOME._**

**_Happy Valentine's day everyone ^-^_**

* * *

"You're scaring the fish."

Nami's voice was jokingly chiding, but she looked at the anemone between her hands with real concern, trying to see between the twisting tendrils for the fish she'd been playing with only seconds ago. There was the reverberating thump as Nautilus dropped his anchor on the sea floor, and even though Nami was used to it, she still jumped. She frowned when her fish friends showed no sign of coming back out of the anemone and turned around, already shaking her finger at Nautilus. How many times did she have to tell him not to throw that thing around when he visited the reef? Didn't he know the clownfish were especially sensitive to noise?

"I told you to stop doing that. And what are you even doing at the reef now? It's still day time."

She hadn't expected an answer (never did, really), but what she expected even less was to see Nautilus standing somewhat awkwardly on the very edge of the reef, one metal-clad hand behind his back, the other extended towards her. She swam a little closer when she realized he was holding something, not stopping until she was close enough to see for herself.

"Flowers."

One single, rumbling word that was eternally muffled by Nautilus's diving helmet.

"Sea grass."

Nami gently corrected him, turning his one extended hand in both of her own to get a better view of the fistful of sea grass, since he apparently didn't want to let them go. Not even _flowering_ sea grass; only several long, limp strands of green that were starting to get crushed by Nautilus's fingers. Nami waited for him to further explain or to move in some way, and after several long, silent seconds of them both staring at the sea grass, Nami was beginning to feel awkward.

"Sooo, did you pick seaweed for any particular reason, or…?"

Nami could still feel the not-yet waning rays of daylight on her back, strong despite filtering through the water. The reef, for the next hour still, would be bright and alive, and Nautilus had never come this close to shore when the sun was still up. It hurt his eyes, he said.

"For you."

He moved the hand he had behind his back to where Nami was, pulling one of her hands to him and placing the fistful of sea grass into her palm. He gently closed her fingers around the bundle before it could drift off with the current, and when Nautilus eventually placed both his hands behind his back again, Nami slowly uncurled her fingers.

She'd been wrong; hidden beneath Nautilus's glove was a single flowering strand of sea grass, the vibrant red of the petals clearly highlighted by its background of dark green and blue.

Nami stared at the sea grass and the flower, and she was glad for once that Nautilus didn't like to speak often so that he wouldn't comment on the blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Flowers."

She looked up when Nautilus repeated himself, and offered him a small, timid smile as she carefully closed her fingers around her flower once more. She didn't even correct him this time.

"It's beautiful."


	28. Wardens and Marauders short

Their war was never ending, but their fight was just beginning.

The Marauders and the Wardens stood off as they always have, the dying sun behind the clouds alighting upon both black and gold armor, clearly highlighting four bodies on the plain. The earth between them was blackened and broken, but the pairs that stood across it paid no attention; even from the distance she was at, the black-clad archer could see clear enough that the mistress Warden had eyes only for her, and her fingers tightened reflexively around her bow. These were Wardens they knew well, a long past of razed villages and bloody conflicts stretching behind them.

The archer glanced at her slavering partner, and not for the first time appreciated the raw, uncontrollable bloodlust that gripped him, and with nothing but the smallest movement to the quiver at her back, he took off across the wasteland, howling as he went. The Warden woman had her own companion; the titan at her back had been still up until then, but with a rallying cry from his partner that even the archer could feel, he lumbered forward, shaking the blackened crust beneath their feet. It was a fight that was centuries in the making, and the momentum of the battle attested to that; the archer's partner slammed into the Warden female with all the force given to him, and the archer felt she'd never had such a clear target before. Her first volley of arrows flicked off the steadily approaching titan and narrowly missed the woman, but she calmly drew a specific arrow from her quiver, one that the warden would have been able to see from her distance if the lupine Marauder wasn't currently digging his claws into her hide. The archer drew, nocked, and took a deep breath, the blue of the arrow matching the blue of her eyes.

And let fly.

She heard clearly the snick of the arrow burying itself into flesh, and the golden Warden dropped to the ground, her starlight armor tarnished by blood and soot. The archer's partner bayed loudly, his chest heaving, blood splashed across his armor and his fur where the Warden had used her circular blade to defend herself. When the wolf's howl died on the wind, the titan turned to his fallen partner, stopping his advance on the Marauder woman and watching her still form as the armored wolf loped away to where his archer waited. The titan seemed, at first, not to understand what happened; he waited a few silent seconds, but the Warden did not stir. The air that had been filled moments ago with howling was now shattered by the deepest, loudest roar of pain and anger that the Marauders had ever heard, and despite the wolf's wicked grin and the archer's cool stare, a cold, instinctual dread filled them both.

The titan swung its giant anchor into the air, moving towards them with a speed that rivaled the wolf's, and the Marauders prepared themselves, slinging one last arrow, bringing their claws to bear one last time. Yes, their war would last centuries, but the titan, the archer, the wolf…

They would not.


	29. Katarina & Riven short

**_A/N: I personally don't particularly like the Riven/Katarina ship, but I think they set themselves up nicely for shorts, and I've seen some pretty talented people write them._**

**_ collectiveofborg- I was trying a new way of writing sort of, and I'm glad you liked it! Thank you so _**_**much. :]**_

* * *

Katarina was there the day Riven received her rune sword.

She didn't smile (it wasn't befitting of a freshly anointed commander) but Kat could tell from the way her eyes opened up wider than she'd ever seen and the almost gentle way she accepted the ridiculous weapon that she was stupidly happy, happier than she'd ever been, probably. She lifted the glowing metal like it was nothing, and there was never a moment after that that she was seen without it.

But Katarina wasn't there when she went off to war.

War was too messy, too involved for someone that lived in the shadows as much as she did; she was told her priorities were elsewhere, and not for a moment did she question it. The Ionian invasion, to some, seemed to last a lifetime, but it was only when it was over and the brunt of the Noxian army was returning home that Katarina first began to really feel the effects of war.

Because Riven and her sword did not come home.

She, her platoon, half the army; MIA, KIA, all synonymous to Kat. Despite what people told her, despite the abysmal odds Riven and her company were given of surviving, Katarina clung to a feeble sort of hope that she would never admit to harboring that Riven was just stuck in Ionia, unable to come home or maybe running one of the Noxian held territories that ringed the Ionian shores.

But, in time, even those Noxians were sent home and there was no white haired commander among them.

It was years later that Riven once again became the forefront of Katarina's thoughts; at the Institute, of all places, her name being whispered and passed between champions and summoners like it meant nothing, like the word alone did not affect Katarina in ways she'd forced herself to forget. She chased those whispers, those insubstantial murmurs falling from strange lips with more determination than she'd ever put into a chase before, and when she finally hunted down Riven all her expectations were shot down in the harshest of ways.

She didn't expect her to look the same; it would be beyond foolish to do so, but a nasty sort of surprise still ripped through her, and the longer Katarina looked at Riven the harder it was for her to breathe.

Her hair was duller, shorter than she remembered, and messily pulled into a lump on the back of her head. There were bandages wrapped around her left arm reaching from thumb to elbow, and although she didn't know why she expected Riven to be wearing it, all of Riven's decorated armor was missing. Despite the swarm of summoners around her, Riven kept her eyes on the ground and continuously shuffled from foot to foot, endlessly shifting and tittering as she drowned in the whispers of the crowd around her. Katarina's eyes drank in every inch and detail, but it wasn't until she moved through the crowd for a better vantage point that she found what she was looking for.

The rune sword Riven loved so much, the sword bestowed unto her at the epitome of her military career… It was shattered just above the hilt with only one broken rune of four remaining, and all the light it once held had gone out of it. It was nothing but a sad, cruel joke, a broken ghost of its former grandeur.

Just like Riven.


	30. Jinx & Thresh short

**_A/N: Requested by Maxaro! I think I took so long to get this out because I've never written Jinx or Thresh before, and I was afraid you wouldn't like it ;-;_**

* * *

"Torment comes in so many flavors."

Thresh had shouted the offhand threat down their lane at Lucian, as he usually did when they were pitted against each other, but he'd hardly gotten in half a look of disdainful fury when someone else cut in.

"Does it come in chocolate?"

Thresh cringed at the shrill, too-loud voice, although he supposed he had himself to blame; if he had just kept quiet, Jinx might not have spoken for at least another couple of minutes. It was hard to give a judgmental side-eye when you didn't _have_ eyes, but that didn't stop Thresh from trying. Jinx either didn't notice Thresh's disapproval or didn't care, and simply smiled (her grin too toothy and unsettling) and waited for a response. She shrugged like it didn't matter if he answered, and kept talking even though Thresh had walked in front of her and was still trying his best to studiously ignore her.

"Have you ever considered that Lucy likes vanilla flavored torment? Or maybe he's one of those weird pistachio kinds of guys."

Thresh really w_as _trying to ignore her, but like most train wrecks, it was hard to look away; whatever she was saying was absolute nonsense, even to him, and he stopped walking away to frown at her.

"But yeah, Fishbones and I like chocolate."

She patted the painted rocket launcher on her shoulder, smiling like a proud mother. In all his centuries of picking apart minds and collecting souls (souls that still loved to needlessly prattle on) he'd never met anyone or anything that came close to spewing out the kind of rubbish that Jinx did. He tapped a clawed finger against the lantern, prompting the souls inside to swirl angrily, and tilted his chin at the skin-and-bones girl still murmuring to her guns.

"You're mad."

She looked away from the shark-shaped gun to wink at Thresh, and in her best imitation of his voice (which was eerily spot on), taunted sarcastically:

"Quite likely."


	31. Riven & Talon short

**_A/N: Requested by ZedTheShadow! In all honesty, I can't stand this pairing, but I hope you enjoy it!_**

**_Ulcaasi- I feel bad getting to this review so late, but let's all let URF die a deserved death and forget about it._**

**_I hate URF._**

**_Guest- Thank you! I'm actually pretty partial to the Miss Fortune/Nami one myself c:_**

* * *

The heavy dread of war had been hanging around Riven's camp for some time.

He company expected it, High Command expected it, and yet that made the news no easier to accept.

"You ship out tomorrow."

She'd nodded and saluted and kept her face straight, no matter how twisted her stomach was or how hard it was for her to force her leaden feat forward and out of her CO's office. It was night already, still early enough that she could grab a drink at the bar down the road from the barracks, but also late enough that it was acceptable for her to pass on the expected nighttime activities and go to bed.

She chose the latter.

It might have been good for her to drink something since she couldn't swallow passed the lump in her throat, but she felt it best to avoid alcohol; it would be too easy for her, like most of her company, to drown her fears in the bottoms of beer bottles. Instead she walked to the part of the barracks where she slept in a room of her own, kicking up the dry dust on the path she took. It was, as always, dark in her room; there was a small window above her bed that let in the narrow slants of moonlight, but they didn't even have the strength to reach the floor. She shrugged off the jacket she'd been wearing, throwing it blindly in the direction of her bed.

"Ow."

Despite the fact that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened, Riven still jumped like she'd been shocked, letting out a small gasp that was quickly followed by an equally quiet laugh. When her heart stopped racing, she composed herself enough to move, fumbling around in the dark for the desk lamp she knew was somewhere by her bed.

Her eyes flicked to her bed when the light clicked on, a brief look of annoyance crossing her features.

"I told you to stop doing that."

Talon gave riven a small smile, and folded her jacket in his lap.

"I never agreed."

She rolled her eyes, but her irritation was very short lived; like it usually was when she was alone with Talon in her bedroom, it was hard to focus on anything else but him.

"I thought you had somewhere to be tonight."

She spoke offhandedly as she tugged off her boots, tossing them much like she had with her jacket into a corner of the room without looking. She took a seat next to Talon on the bed when she was finished, propping her head up on her pillow and then stretching her legs out behind him. She thought she remembered Talon saying the other day that he wouldn't be able to see her for the rest of the week, yet here he was. His only answer was a small shrug, his eyes avoiding hers.

Oh.

It made sense that Talon would have heard about her company shipping out before she did, and she chewed her lip while unease spread through her; she was never very good at talking about the things that made people uncomfortable. That was why she liked Talon so much.

"I was going to tell y-"

He shook his head, cutting off her quiet voice, and she was grateful for the interruption.

"It doesn't matter."

The way she was laying made it easy for him to lean over her, to situate himself so that every inch of him covered every inch of her, the jacket in his lap forgotten. It occurred to Riven, even though it quickly became difficult for her to form entirely cohesive thoughts, that after tonight she wouldn't be seeing Talon for a very, very long time. She didn't know when her company was coming back.

She didn't know if she was coming back at all.

Her mind shied away from the morbid thoughts that hung, ignored, in the back of her mind, trying to just focus on what she had now. Now, Talon was here, and she could taste his lips and feel his skin on hers, could hear the quiet sounds of their breathing.

Riven tried to make the best of her last night in Noxus.


	32. Ekko & Jinx short

**_A/N: Requested by Murbantor! Hope you like it ^-^_**

**_Maxaro- You're welcome! Sorry it took so long, but I'm glad you like it!_**

**_ZedTheShadow- Thank you! Good to hear c:_**

**_Ulcaasi- no nononononon URF mode is bad and I hate it. Like League, right? War is fun in League. But not URF mode._**

**_Guest- I'm writing Ashe and Ekko, but I'm not going to lie, it's a little strange ;-; was there anything specific you wanted to happen, any particular mood? If not, I'll just finish what I started and have it up soon ^-^_**

* * *

"This is a huge waste of my time, you know. I don't even want to be here."

Ekko's voice seemed quiet on the rooftop; it had hardly drifted past his lips before the wind tugging at their clothes carried it away, but his companion heard.

"You have all the time in the world. And besides, you needed to test out Mr. Z after you broke him. This is the perfect opportunity."

Ekko frowned at the blue cylinder in his lap, running his fingers over the places in glass where there used to be cracks and shatters, the light turning his skin an eerie green. Jinx was at least a little right; he definitely didn't want to be there, perched precariously on a rooftop in Piltover, but he did need to test the Zero-Drive before he used it for anything serious.

And Jinx needed help.

He couldn't turn his friend away, nor did he want to, but he didn't think she would drag him all the way to Piltover.

"Yeah, okay, but why are we on the roof? It's cold as hell, Jinx, and for god's sake you're going to fall off the-"

"Shh!"

Jinx frantically waved a hand in Ekko's face, leaning even more over the edge of the rooftop until she was more hanging over air than kneeling on concrete. Her mouth was wide open, but not smiling, and her eyes were more focused than Ekko had ever seen.

She'd even dropped Fishbones in her haste.

"There."

Jinx lifted a hand (making Ekko swallow nervously) and pointed down and across the street, where two women were standing in front of what he now realized was a police station. They were both tall, and the building Jinx and Ekko were on was close enough that he could see that the taller of the two had pink hair and tattoos, and the shorter one had on a weirdly sized hat and sunglasses. They paused in front of the door briefly, and the pink haired woman let out a quick, nasally laugh that carried clearly on the wind, a laugh that strangely reminded Ekko of late nights and bruised arms.

Before he really had time to reminisce, the pair left the sidewalk and went inside the police station, and then Jinx and Ekko could see them no more.

"Take us back."

Ekko looked over at Jinx, who'd returned to a safer sitting position and was staring at him with eyes wide, wide open.

"Are you sure? You don't even want to-"

"Take us back."

She interrupted softly, so he didn't comment, and then she tucked Fishbones under her arm and placed a very bony hand on the Zero-Drive.

"Okay."

And he did.

Using the Zero-Drive was a lot like what Ekko imagined sitting in a wind tunnel was like, or standing on top of a speeding car; there was a flash of neon blue light, whipping winds, and the feeling that he'd left his stomach far behind in another time.

When they landed or arrived or whatever it was called, they were still on the rooftop, and Jinx crawled to the edge where they had been before, not saying anything this time. He joined her, and they were both silent together for what had to be the first time ever since he'd met her. She just sat on the edge of that roof, clutching Fishbones to her chest until her knuckles turned white, waiting for the two women to walk down that sidewalk, flinching when the pink haired girl laughed, staring at the spot in front of the police station long after they disappeared inside.

Over and over she asked him to go back, and over and over he complied, the scene of those two women in Piltover playing out in front of him until he realized why they were here.

On maybe the 8th replay, perhaps the 9th, something made Ekko hear that short bark of laughter differently, and when he recognized why it was familiar, he joined Jinx at the edge of the roof, clutching the Zero-Drive like she did with Fishbones, staring with the same shocked, wide eyes.

"Is that-"

"Yes."

She didn't say it impatiently, but he could tell she was more than relieved that he finally figured it out.

"But I thought she died."

It was the first sentence she'd let him finish in a while, and he almost wished she hadn't; she turned to him with a twisted smile on her face, adjusting Fishbones in her arms so that all at once, she looked incredibly dangerous.

"No, she didn't."


	33. Quinn & Talon short

**_A/N: Requested by Guest! Thank you for your last review, and I hope you enjoy!_**

**_Ulcaasi- Thank you~_**

**_CollectiveofBorg- Thank you! It was honestly the first thing I thought of when I read Ekko's lore, and it's a much different relationship than I'm used to writing. I enjoyed writing that short a lot :D_**

* * *

There was a hill outside of Demacia's walls that Quinn loved to go to when she wasn't necessarily feeling her best.

From that vantage point, she could watch the sun set behind the tall buildings of Demacia, and the fading sunlight always caught on the sea's waves in the most beautiful of ways. Today when she trekked out there though, she didn't plan on being alone; Valor was with her, of course, but waiting for her at the top of that hill was a familiar form, the dark purple of their cloak edged by orange sunlight. The cloak shifted when Quinn was close enough to see their face, and the corner of Talon's mouth lifted in his closest approximation of a smile. A guilty sort of nervousness had been plaguing Quinn all the way to that hill, but it lessened some when she fit herself beneath Talon's arm, and she tried to force herself to relax.

But she shouldn't be there.

Neither of them should, really; nothing Noxian should be comforting to her and Talon definitely shouldn't be this close to Demacia, literally and figuratively. Still, it was hard to think of all the reasons she shouldn't be doing what she was doing when she was actually _with_ Talon. She let her head rest on his shoulder while he twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers, and even though watching sunsets was one of Quinn's favorite things to do, she wished for just this once that the sun wouldn't disappear behind the horizon, and that she and Talon could stay there on that hill forever.

She knew she was imagining it, but it almost did feel like it took longer for the sky to darken, and as the temperature cooled she tucked herself even more securely beneath Talon's arm.

"You would like Noxus… The nicer parts, at least. The top of the mountain has a birds-eye view of the whole city."

Quinn smiled a little, although it unsettled her to think that there was anything Noxus had to offer that wasn't Talon that she would enjoy. She did have to admit, however, that she would prefer the high mountains around Noxus to the flatlands of Demacia any day.

"That sounds nice."

There must have been something off in her tone, because Talon tilted his head enough so that he could see her face, even though she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the skyline.

"What's wrong?"

It was unsettling being around Talon sometimes; Quinn knew a lot of observant people, but most were weighed down by trivial politeness, and only Talon would ever be so forthcoming. She pursed her lips, hesitating as she considered whether or not she wanted to answer. Talon didn't rush her, just continued to play with her hair while he waited.

"How do you do it?"

She'd gathered the nerve to speak her mind, but her voice was hardly a whisper, and Talon barely caught it.

"Do what?"

Quinn vaguely waved a hand between them while she thought of a better way to explain.

"This- us. How do you not feel guilty about coming here all the time? You take treason so lightly."

If he was offended, he definitely didn't show it, another way he was so different from everyone else Quinn knew. He just shrugged the shoulder she was under, and answered considerably louder and more even than she did.

"I'm an assassin, Quinn. Guilt isn't really my thing."

And it wasn't; Noxus could care less about Talon, so why should he care about Noxus? It made perfect sense to him to be right where he was, because it was something he wanted to do.

"I do what I want, because I can."

He reached over with his free hand, gently grabbing Quinn's chin and tilting it upwards so that she had to look at him. They were always so sad, Quinn's eyes, and he realized he wanted to alleviate that sadness, among other things.

"And I want you."


	34. Thresh & Ahri short

**_A/N: Requested by Maxaro! I'm here to collect my firstborn. _**

**_(I actually had fun writing this and I hope you like it ;-;)_**

* * *

Thresh didn't want to be here.

He really, _really _didn't want to be here, and he was glad his date hadn't shown up yet. He stood outside the door to the ballroom, studiously ignoring all of the people filing inside and tugging at the starched collar of his tuxedo.

His tuxedo…

Honestly, he couldn't remember how he was roped into this. He'd gone to see Ahri for some reason or another, one that _definitely _didn't involve going to some League sanctioned gala, and yet he was here, awkwardly waiting for her to arrive. He resolved that after tonight, he would never go anywhere with Ahri again.

But for now, he resigned himself to a night of forced small talk and terrible dancing. He glared sullenly at the arriving party goers, all dressed to the nines in dark suits and vibrant ball gowns. From their smiles and light laughter, Thresh wagered that they actually wanted to be there, and it made him hate them all the more.

"I thought people were supposed to be happy at parties."

Thresh turned around, and if he possessed the ability to frown he would have. As it was, he simply hoped that Ahri could feel his irritation. Judging from the smirk on her face, she either didn't notice, or more likely, didn't care; she was wearing a light green dress that perfectly matched the fire behind Thresh's eyes and made her own stand out against her dark hair, and the dress was all sheer, low cuts with a long slit up the side that shifted to reveal a generous amount of leg. She had her tails all held together and flowing down the back of her dress's train like they were part of the garment, and her fingers gently trailed the length of her jade necklace as she approached him.

The scanty dress didn't do for him what it might have for another human in his position, but Ahri held a beauty that even he could appreciate; he held out an arm when she was at his side, as was customary, and led her inside the ballroom.

"Remember, we're here for fun."

Fun. Right.

Thresh never actually did anything with the intention of having 'fun', but he was there already, Ahri looked nice, the ballroom wasn't too loud; he might not actually hate the whole night. The high-ceilinged room was already full, and although there was a ring of tables where people sat to pick at food, the middle of the room was cleared for dancers. Thresh watched the couples move across the dance floor, some experienced, most not. He watched them all with increasing disdain while Ahri immediately began to drag him over there, keeping a steady pressure on his arm as they walked across the room.

"I don't dance."

He tried to sound threatening, he really did, but he was only rewarded with a roll of Ahri's eyes.

"You do now."

When they were almost perfectly in the middle of the dance floor, Ahri stopped dragging him and placed one hand on his waist, and then lifted the other. Thresh did the same and linked his fingers with hers, and thought to himself that if he was already here and Ahri wasn't going to let him leave, he might as well show off. Besides, it would give the party goers who were staring at arguably the weirdest couple in the room something more to look at.

So Thresh danced.

And oh, he was a wonderful dancer; he led Ahri through complex spins and complicated foot patterns, twirling her around the ballroom while the other dancers moved out of their way. Ahri let her surprise show in the form of a wide smile, but otherwise didn't comment on Thresh's apparent expertise, for which he was grateful; when he had to he liked to concentrate on dancing, not making conversation, and Ahri was proving to be a wonderful partner. She followed his lead with the casual skill of someone who liked to dance but didn't very often, and her tails trailed behind them in an interesting way that Thresh thought looked very nice. He wouldn't admit it, but the night wasn't absolutely miserable, aside from the tux. He hardly even noticed the uncomfortable garment while he was moving, and it was easy for him to just let his feet guide him and his partner.

He didn't know how long he and Ahri spent dancing, because Thresh didn't tire the way other people did; eventually he did notice that Ahri was slowing down though, and using that realization he ended the dance in the most ostentatious dip he could, and he held Ahri in his arms while her chest heaved and a few of the dancers around them clapped.

"So you _do _know how to have fun!"


	35. A Thorned Rose

"Fancy seeing you here."

That was funny, Fate thought. He was just about to say the same thing.

'Here' was a dive of a bar located in the darkest, least habitable port city that Bilgewater had to offer. Fate was sitting alone at the dusky bar, but someone pulled out the stool next to him, sitting carefully as she tried not to touch anything. He gave Evelynn a cursory glance from the corner of his eye, noting the long, dark sleeves of the dress she wore and the wide-brimmed hat that she pulled over her eyes again. What a shame- he'd always though she looked better the less she wore.

"Can I buy you a drink, darlin'?

Fate's voice was all simper and smoothness, and it did a good job of hiding his apprehension; he had to appear completely calm around Evelynn, because the witch woman could smell fear.

"No, thank you."

She folded her hands on the top of the counter, and gave Fate a small smile from beneath her hat.

"I have something to tell you, actually."

She leaned over to Fate's stool and freed a hand to place it on his knee, tilting her head in such a way that her nose almost touched his but their hats didn't collide. It might have looked funny from a spectator's point of view, but the few other patrons in the bar kept their eyes down, and Fate wasn't sure he would have even noticed if they were staring.

"Good news, I hope."

He knew better than to lean closer, as he would have liked- Evelynn was prone to biting, whether it be for good or for bad. He also knew better than to think that after all these years, Evelynn would track him down because she had something good to say.

"That depends…"

Her breath whisked over his lips, and Fate was sure she was smiling.

"I've heard Malcom is out and about these days… isn't that nice? I've missed him."

Fate immediately stiffened, no longer leaning further in Evelynn's direction; he licked his lips, giving up entirely on appearing nonchalant. Evelynn could certainly smell the fear on him now, and he gently eased her away, taking great care in lifting her hand off of his knee.

Malcolm was out…

Eve had a sick sense of humor, that was for sure, but Fate didn't want to let her win, so to speak; he kept her hand in his, smiling as he lifted it to his lips. It didn't matter that his heart was racing or his stomach was in knots, it only mattered that Eve had the tiniest look of frustration across her brow, and no matter how slight it was, it made Fate feel better.

"I appreciate the heads up, darlin'."

And he did; he'd dealt with Malcolm before, and this time wouldn't be any different.

Eve watched him stand, pulling his hat over his eyes like she did, and reaching into his coat before he walked past her stool. He pulled out a red rose, seemingly from nowhere, holding it out to her with that cocky smile still plastered on his face.

"I'll see you around."

She took the rose as he left the bar, brushing a finger up the stem and running it over one deep red petal. Her finger left a smear of crimson on the flower, and she lifted it her mouth, sticking the tip of her finger between her lips as the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile.

Thorns. Fate's roses always had thorns.


	36. Quinn & Talon short, not continued

**_A/N: For Tahimikamaxtli, who deserves more than this short for his kindness and inspiration. I was way too nervous to go anywhere near Riven and Yasuo, so I hope this works as a thank you ;-;  
_**

* * *

Quinn didn't know what she was doing.

Well, technically she knew, but she figured it would be more beneficial if she didn't think about her hastily devised plan. Lucky for her, the fear that gripped her and the fact that she was running as fast as she could and hadn't really pulled in a full breath in several minutes made it easier than she thought to not dwell on the specifics of her actions. She crashed through the muggy underbrush of the Bubbling Bog with Valor following silently above her and the Serpentine River roaring to her right, and even though the thick forest looked so different at night, Quinn knew exactly where she was going.

Because she'd been watching this path for months.

Her lungs were really starting to burn when she pushed through a particularly dense part of a thicket, but on the other side of the vines and thorns was the small tent she was looking for, buried in the foliage with such skill that Quinn would have missed it if she didn't already know it was there. She still stopped a few feet away from it, and a different kind of fear took hold of her now; not the debilitating feeling that she was quickly running out of time, but the cold horror of the unknown, and it took her several moments to compose herself before she could force herself to approach the tent.

Besides her ragged breathing and the steady roar of the river, there was no other sound in the night; she knew Valor was close, but she couldn't see him, and there was no movement from inside the tent. She brushed aside the tent flap anyway, stepping slowly inside, aware that at any moment there could be a knife between her ribs and one less ranger in the woods. Her fears turned out unfounded, however; the tent was empty, and there was certainly nowhere for anyone to hide. There were a couple of blankets piled in a corner that she assumed served as the bed, a couple of dirty eating utensils around a small pit dug in the middle of the tent that was full of glowing coals but no food. There was nothing else there, no clothes, no maps, no personal items. Quinn stood at the entrance, her chest heaving as she tried to pull air into her lungs, her hands out to the side as her muscles twitched. She felt wrong, like she was about to snap, and she gave up the small and dangerous hope she had of finding the owner of the tent.

She was turning around, preparing to run back the way she came twice as fast when she felt the sharp, distinct point of a blade press to the middle of her back. She froze, and not even her trembling muscles dared to move anymore.

"Who are you?"

Quinn shook her head, because she didn't have time to be surprised or terrified that she'd been caught, and she certainly didn't have time to explain all the boring details of who she was- neither of them did. Keeping her hands up, she did the most dangerous thing she could in her position; she turned around. The blade moved from her back to her neck in a fluid motion she didn't see, and even though there was a sting of pain, she spoke before the hooded man she now faced could speak, or worse.

"You have to go. They're in the woods, they know you're here and-"

She stopped when the blade pressed even harder to her neck, and she felt blood running over her skin now, and Quinn was suddenly very, very afraid. The man who owned the tent -the assassin- she could see his face clearly, after weeks of him hiding behind that cowl and her watching from a distance; his hair was longer than she expected, almost reaching his shoulders, and he had a strong jaw that was set into a scowl with deep-set eyes that were more intense than any she'd ever seen.

It would be easy for him to kill her. She bet he wanted to.

And if she was going to die, she might as well finish what she came here to do- to warn him. Despite the blood dripping down her neck, the pain of the blade cutting her skin, and the fear that choked her, Quinn spoke.

"The Demacian army, they think you're responsible for all of those murders and they're here _now_! You have to leave!"

There was no change in the man's expression, so it was impossible for Quinn to tell what he was thinking; he didn't trust her, that much was obvious, and why would he? A Demacian ranger suddenly comes running into his expertly hidden camp with an army at her heels, and asks him to run. Quinn was amazed she was still alive.

"I don't trust you."

Not 'can I trust you', just a flat refusal, and Quinn's face fell in dismay.

"You have to."

Silence. The way he stared at her, it made her feel so small and insignificant, and she was very much aware that she was alive only because he permitted it. Still, she silently begged that he would listen, because if he didn't, this would all be for nothing. They would both die.

For one impossible second, the blade pressed even harder against her skin, and Quinn closed her eyes, thinking of Valor and Caleb and-

A rough shove against her back.

She opened her eyes, catching herself before she tripped, and turned around. He was there behind her, holding up the blade on his arm, and jerked his head to the entrance of the tent.

"Leave."

One look was all she gave him, one look of concerned gratitude that lasted all of a second before she bolted out of the tent, away from the assassin and into the night.


	37. Miss Fortune & Gangplank short

**_A/N: Hi! Just so everyone knows, I haven't forgotten about anyone's requests! I have drafts for all the one's I've received, and I should hopefully have them up sometime this week. I just really needed to contribute to all the piratey goodness that's been going on. _**

**_Corsair Quinn, yes please._**

**_Monsterbrush- I hope it's not just you, but thank you so much ;-;_**

**_Ulcaasi- thank you c: I know, right? Suffice it to say that Thresh in a suit is a very interesting mental image. _**

**_Anyway, enjoy, and I'll have the requests up soon!_**

* * *

You could always tell when a ship was in a harbor, and when it was far out to sea.

It rocked different over open water; slower, more even, almost like it was more at peace with the world. If you were a seasoned sailor who loved the seas, you could easily tell the difference.

I could.

At least, I usually could, but I couldn't concentrate on much in my current state. I was strung up in the belly of a ship that I knew to be beautiful, but that wasn't mine. The hold was dark, damp, and miserable. Cold chains held my hands above my head, cutting into the skin of my wrists, and there were burns along my left side that still throbbed with a pain unlike any other I had ever felt before. There must have been a gash above my left eye too, because there was something dripping into it and it was getting harder and harder to blink it away.

I didn't want to try anymore.

I knew that, if I was left to hang, I would eventually succumb to the burns. It would be a slow and painful way to die, but I was going to die anyway; it didn't matter to me how. Nothing mattered in the belly of the King's ship. Nothing at all.

Not even the passage of time.

It was like the ship ignored the laws of nature, and that time never moved when it was on the water; we could sail the entire sea, over and over, and we'd be as young at the end of the voyage as we were in the beginning. At least, that's what it felt like. In reality, I knew that we must be going somewhere; there had to be someone watching the sun set and go. Maybe we were headed back to Bilgewater. Maybe we were headed back out to sea, on the hunt for more bounty hunters and thieves.

My people- my crew.

I gave my manacles a futile tug when I thought again of how I ended up here; there was a glorious fight on the ocean, and the spark of gunpowder was almost as bright as the sun on the waves. There were rallying shouts and painful screams, the clang of swords and the pops of pistols. I remember watching the battle unfold and thinking we had a chance, that maybe this was the day the unspoken regime of Bilgewater fell under those that it had trodden on. I remembered the warm steel of two familiar triggers beneath my fingers.

And I remember when the King himself stepped off his gilded ship, and as suddenly as it had formed, my confidence abandoned me.

He had this sword, not imposing in size or wickedness, but a beautiful weapon that glowed with fire and malice. He himself didn't move with grace, but with a fierce, methodical sort of brutality that saw droves of men fall to his feet. He was unstoppable. He was merciless.

And that was why he was the King.

I can't say for sure why he took me instead of killing me, hanging me up half alive for whatever purpose. Maybe it was my beauty, or my reputation; no matter his intention, I was sure that I was the last of my crew, left bleeding and dying and humiliated. They weren't finished either, apparently, because eventually they did come down to where I was left, blinding sunlight streaming through the now-open hatch of my prison. Even though the hatch was closed quickly and I blinked frantically, spots remained in front of my eyes, effectively blinding me. There was the heavy thud of boots on wood planks, coming to a stop just before where I was hanging. Normally I would have something sharp to say, something appropriately sarcastic, but I had no voice anymore.

"Captain Fortune. It's a pleasure."

Although I hadn't entirely regained my vision yet and the man himself was just a dark blur in front of me, I knew immediately who it was. The King had a very distinct voice, not one you could easily forget. I chose silence over a retort, but that didn't stop Gangplank from talking.

"It's a shame what happened to your crew…"

He didn't sound contrite. He didn't sound like anything, really. There was a sound in the dark, the scrape of a knife against something soft, and suddenly the tangy smell of citrus wafted through the air from him to me.

"Are you hungry? You've been here for a while."

I think he held out a piece of the fruit when he said that, because the blur that was Gangplank moved forward, a bit of the smudged darkness moving dangerously close to my face. It was tempting; my mouth watered, despite everything, and I could feel how close his hand was to my face. I wanted nothing more than to accept his offer.

So I spit in his face.

At least, I think I did. There was still blood in my eye, and my right swam with sunspots, but the Gangplank shadow moved sharply away, and he sighed like he was disappointed.

"Maybe not long enough."


	38. Always

**_~Kindred Short~_**

**_A/N - Obligatory Kindred short because holy shit has a prettier champion ever been made? Nope. I'm gonna go back and name all of my shorts and name any future ones because I've always had names for them but for some reason just… didn't… name them. Also, I still haven't forgotten anyone's requests :c they'll be finished soon, I swear._**

**_Anyways! Enjoy._**

* * *

He was scared.

Lamb could see that, Wolf could smell it; it was the most familiar of emotions that the dying clung to. They dug their ebbing energy into that fear as if it alone could keep them tethered to their world, but deep down they knew.

Just as Lamb did. Just as Wolf did.

Lamb stepped lightly into the shallow river, hardly disturbing the gentle flow of water, the wide eyes of the dying following every delicate move. It should have shocked him, that ethereal blue that was she and the specter that was Wolf, but the Kindred felt more familiar to him than anything the man had ever known, because they had always known him; death knew all.

There was no pity in the endless depths of Lamb's eyes, nothing definitive like the hunger in Wolf's, and she shifted lightly from the stream to the chest of the fallen, her touch light as the feather of his fleeting life. She caused no pain, in touch or presence; after all, there is always comfort in the company of old friends.

Lamb set aside her wooden bow where Wolf hovered, her fingers free to only just press to the face of the man who faded. There was a golden crown that caught the sunshine, fallen a bit from the shadow where he rested forevermore, and Lamb noticed it idly before returning her tireless gaze to what little life remained beneath her.

"Mine?"

The rasp of Wolf's voice, quickly tempered by the lilt of Lamb's, as always it had been.

"Ours."

He drifted about her as she studied the man, resplendent to her even in those final moments, and for a fleeting second as Wolf settled near to her, whether it be a trick of the light or attributed to the failing eyes of the nearly departed, they appeared as one.

"Tell me a story, Wolf."

Her touch brought fresh comfort, stalling Wolf's teeth, as did her request; her dying friend watched now as Wolf's mask tilted, eyeing him anew.

"There lived our friend, like all our others. They did great things but remembered little, and mistook hope for promise."

Lamb nodded, feeling Wolf's teeth at her back, and could delay no more. She again plucked the bow from the earth, light as air in her hands, the sky in her eyes a mirror to the stars in Wolf's. A sharp sliver of the heavens appeared between her fingers and she nocked that pure arrow like she had done hundreds, thousands, millions of times, as many times as she had heard that story.

"Thank you, Wolf."


	39. So the Wind Says

_**A/N: I've forgotten/lost a lot of requests before I kind of took a break from updating this fic, so if you sent me one and I didn't write you something, please send it again :x I went too long without filling the requests and I think it'd be easier for me to just have everyone that remembers theirs to resend it.**_

_**Murbanator- You said Yasuo? I actually write the other Ionians a lot, I just never publish anything. I have a Soraka/Varus thing kinda drafted too, so we'll see about that**_

_**Jack N. Hoff- your request is the only one that doesn't need to be resent, I gotchu. I've wanted to do Sona/Morde for a while**_

_**Craigprime- Thank you! My nami/mf short is actually one of my favorites :x Thank you! I was so blown away by Kindred when Riot revealed them, because wow if that champ isn't beautiful and amazing. Also fun- I'm a dirty Kindred picker now.**_

_**Ulcaasi- I KNOW. I'M STILL NOT OVER KINDRED TBH. THEY ARE AMAZEBALLS**_

_**So, if you're not Jack N. Hoff and you had a request I didn't answer, pm/review and give it to me again! And if you're Tahimikamaxtli, please don't hit me, I tried my hardest here.**_

* * *

How long had he travelled with her?

How many miles, oceans, cities; how many words had they shared, whether they be hard-edged and snapped, or soft and murmured so quietly that only the two of them could ever hope to hear…

How could he not have known?

He knew everything about Riven. Sometimes he thought he knew her better than she did herself- it was one of the very few things they almost agreed on.

Shouldn't he have been able to tell, then? How, in the years he'd known her, did he not notice that the hands that gripped her sword with a sad sort of desperation were the ones that had set him on this path? She alone had killed his elder. The fallout from that day dogged him even now, even when he was far from Ionia and reveling in the company of a Noxian.

_The _Noxian.

Because not only had his life unknowingly revolved around her all those years ago, but it very obviously did now too- a fate he picked willingly and gladly. It was the reason, perhaps, that he had not been able to see the truth sooner. Yasuo had been too busy admiring the broken warrior and her need for redemption to remember that such a quest meant she had a past she needed forgiveness for.

And she was so _earnest_\- Riven was so compassionate and grounded but fierce and loyal and just so un-Noxian and genuine that Yasuo was not surprised, not anymore, that he hadn't been able to see it. She wasn't the same person that used the shattered blade when it was once grand to unknowingly end a life and ruin so many others; the Riven that Noxus had crafted into their best and worst was not the Riven he knew.

Not his Riven.

She looked at him now with apologies on her lips and her eyes begging for a forgiveness that only he could give, and he could not think of the blood on her hands or his, or all of the reasons he should have to hate her. He could only think of the regret that laced her tremulous voice when she spoke of the things she'd done, and how when the moonlight hit her hair it looked like stars and how when she was asleep, _really _asleep, in a comfortable bed and tucked beneath his arm and without a nightmare to torture her, that all of the peace she was searching for was on her face. He could choose anger and send her away or he could kill her and exact the revenge he'd sworn to find what seemed like lifetimes ago, but if Yasuo knew one thing, knew it from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet and deep in every weary bone, was that a sword was poor company for a long road.

And he and Riven had so much farther to travel.


	40. Adoribus!

_**A/N: Requested by Maxaro and seconded by Ulcaasi. I write too much angst, I hope this is silly enough =_=**_

* * *

Syndra and Zed didn't especially like the League, but it gave them both an opportunity they didn't have outside of it- a chance to fight each other.

And not just any kind of fighting; real, _violent _sparring that always ended in death, however temporary. They both relished the chance to test their strength against the strongest and most capable person that they knew.

Today's match was particularly volatile, and Syndra and Zed both had racked up quite a few kills for themselves. At the moment, however, Syndra was being pressured almost out of her lane, and her apparent struggle put a grin on Zed's face. He moved in for what looked like a sure kill when suddenly Syndra took the offensive, almost as if-

Almost as if she wasn't alone.

Sure enough, one of Syndra's teammates burst from the bushes lining the sides of their lane in a flash of purple and accompanied by what Zed was halfway sure was a seriously mutated butterfly, using one small hand to steady her enormous hat while she rushed to Syndra's aid. Lulu herself wasn't the picture of danger, but Zed knew how fatal a spell of hers could turn out, and he immediately called forth a shadow in an effort to retreat; just before he could escape certain danger, Lulu waved that ridiculous staff over her head and shouted so loud it made him cringe.

"Transmogulate!"

Even if it was gibberish, Lulu's words had an instant effect, and Zed felt his body go warm and fuzzy, almost like all of his limbs had fallen asleep at exactly the same time. After a brief moment where his vision was dark, his eyesight returned with a terrible sense of vertigo, because everything around him was much bigger and considerably more far away than they were seconds ago.

He absolutely loathed Lulu.

She had a nasty habit of turning people into squirrels or cats or something equally asinine, but Zed simply had to wait for it to wear off; in the meantime, all he had to do was focus on avoiding Syndra while he was vulnerable, and then he would-

And then he would still be a squirrel.

He'd hobbled down a pretty decent amount of the lane on his stubby legs, but Lulu's spell wasn't fading; he realized now that Syndra wasn't even chasing him anymore, and that Lulu was cackling loudly from the direction of the river. He turned around, his view of the world still horribly skewed, and saw Lulu doubled over in laughter, leaning against Syndra's knees for support. Syndra herself had her hand over her mouth as she stifled her own hysterics, and Zed felt the fur he now had bristle.

What was so funny?

They'd all seen this spell a million times and been on the receiving end just as much as anyone else, and even though it was lasting a _little _longer than usual, he didn't understand their exaggerated reactions. Well, maybe it wasn't so out of the norm for Lulu, but Syndra's face was turning red and she really looked like she was about to lose it as much as the tiny yordle was at her side. In between fits of laughter, Lulu finally found the strength to speak.

"Pix, look! We've never turned someone into a _poro _before!"

_A_ _poro?_

Zed raised his hands (paws) and saw that they were indeed covered in silky black fur, very different from the pink fuzz that Lulu's squirrels were usually made of. With a growing sense of horror, Zed lifted his hands (paws) and felt along the side of his head, encountering a stiff horn and setting Lulu off to half-laughing, half-gasping again. Zed growled, the only thing he was really able to do in his condition, and when the initial shock of realization wore off he tore back down the lane with every intention of seeing just how sharp a poro's teeth were.

"Oh, no you don't."

Although his anger propelled his tiny legs far, he was yanked from the ground before he could collide with Lulu or her stupid hat, and he struggled fiercely against the gentle grip that held him high above the ground and far away from biting distance of Lulu.

Fingers combed through the fur on his head, gentle and reassuring, and Zed's frantic anger eased a bit as he leaned into the touch, and as the scratching moved from behind one horn to the tip of his chin, Zed found (which the appropriate amount of horror) that he couldn't stop one of his back legs from shaking in response.

"I have to say, this is a pleasant change from the usual; you are typically much more difficult to soothe."

Zed recognized Syndra's teasing voice and realized that she must have been the one to pick him up, which only made him renew his struggle; it proved futile, because no matter how much stronger Zed was than Syndra when he was of the right body and no matter how badly he wanted to get free, Syndra had a good grip on his tiny poro body and showed no sign of letting him go and letting him loose on Lulu again.

"Release me!" he shouted- or tried to. Poros couldn't talk and he was no exception, so the words manifested only as a series of sharp, high chirps that brought on another round of ear-piercing laughter from Lulu.

Oh, the things he would do to that insufferable little creature when the spell wore off.

Leaning away from Syndra's touch now, Zed tried to judge the distance from Syndra's hands to the ground, already set on jumping. He renewed his effort to break free of her clutches, and had almost succeeded in wriggling out of his prison when yet another voice joined them.

"What is that?"

Syndra turned to face the newcomer, although Zed had already recognized the voice with a fresh, terrible horror; sure enough, Shen was making his way towards Syndra and Lulu, and not alone, either- he'd all but forgotten that Akali was facing off against him top lane, and they looked at him with a confused sort of wonder.

And Syndra was all too happy to explain.

"Say hello, Zed."

Zed merely growled as fiercely as a poro was able to (which really wasn't very fierce at all), deciding that Syndra's hand was a much better target at present and twisting his head in an effort to sink his teeth into her fingers. She held him at arm's length and adjusted her grip so that he had no hope of biting anything, and his new position was almost directly in the face of his lifelong enemies.

Enemies that were having a very hard time maintaining their usual stoicism.

"Oh Shen, he is _adorable."_

Akali's croon dripped with sarcasm, and she and Shen were both clearly grinning behind their masks. Zed growled again, but the pitiful sound only earned more laughter.

"Is he not much preferable this way? His anger is endearing."

Everything was made all the worse by the fact that Syndra was so unabashedly _enjoying _this; she joked with Lulu and Akali and Shen, and after sensing the commotion, the entirety of both teams joined them. Not only was Zed humiliated in front of the Kinkou, but he now had several yordles and Demacians and one very loud Noxian laughing at his futile struggles for freedom, and Syndra was holding him in such a way that whoever dared to could stroke the fur on the back of his head, and most of the people around him were brave enough to try. He almost lost it when Akali did the same, patting his head none too gently and smiling what was most likely a wicked, twisted grin.

"This form agrees with you, Master of Shadows."

Zed darted forward with even more determination than he did when he was trying to escape, very nearly succeeding in nipping off the tip of Akali's finger before Syndra jerked him backwards, now a safe distance away from everyone else where he could dissolve into a mess of high-pitched snarls. Akali crossed her arms across her chest and let out a peal of laughter very similar to Lulu's, and although that pitched his fury to an all new level, Zed was grateful for it; the spell suddenly faded then, with a gasp from the gathered champions and a cry of protest from Syndra, who suddenly found herself with her hands full of a ninja double her weight and not a miniscule poro.

Any other day he might have padded his KDA with Shen's temporary death, but Zed's face burned with embarrassment, and with the laughter of eight champions following, he shoved through the crowd and stalked off through the river. Biting back a smile, Syndra trailed after him, all the while Lulu watched from where she'd been standing the whole time, clutching her cramping stomach and stifling even more laughter. She darted a glance at Pix, who couldn't smile and had only chucked at the most, grinning wide enough for the both of them and lifting her staff high over her head, silencing the laughter of the champions still gathered and shouting loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Let's do that again!"


	41. To the Aether

_**A/N: Requested by Magery. First off, thanks so much for your review- I read it a lot when I was feeling kinda meh, and it always cheered me up. Also, I know this is short, and if you don't like it I can definitely redo it :o I REALLY like Kayle and Morgana and their lore and dynamic and everything, and I don't reaaally think this short does them a whole lot of justice, so I'll probably do more. I just didn't want to make you keep waiting ;-;**_

_**Ulcaasi- I absolutely agree! Silliness is essential.**_

_**Maxaro- who would've thought that Zed poros were so much fun to write? Thank you for the prompt, I'll get to working on your other one ^-^**_

_**GarenKat Fangirl- Thank you!**_

* * *

Kayle had spent the lifetimes of many purging her world and others from evil.

It was a task not bestowed to her, but one she took upon herself; how could she, in good heart, allow evil to fester when she could end it? It was arduous, it was thankless, but there were none more suited for the crusade than the Judicator herself.

That was, until the war on injustice became personal.

Kayle was convincing when she said it didn't matter, and she was convincing when she disowned Morgana; she was even convincing now, holding her divine sword aloft and all too close to the neck of her only remaining family.

No. Not family. Not for centuries.

Kayle could feel Morgana's magic eating away at her body and soul, and she knew her time was short; to her, in her final moments, there was no battlefield, there was no sound of her people dying, there was no pain. There was her, and there was Morgana. Wayward Morgana, who'd brought Kayle lower than anyone else with foreign magic and a twisted, broken smile. She lay in the muck and the mire, rotted wings splayed to her sides, the burning fire in her eyes locked on Kayle's. She knew Kayle was going to die, and that she was sure to also, and still she grinned.

She was the most wicked of evils, and Kayle could not purge it.

Her sword was shaking in unsteady hands and inching closer to Morgana's neck, and her breath was coming slow, slowly, slower… She had so little left; she had hardly anything more to give.

But if Kayle was going to die, she was going to right this wrong; Morgana was her evil, her responsibility, and although it pained her greatly, more than any wound she'd ever sustained, Kayle used her ebbing strength to speak, to lift her sword and cut the darkest blight from her world in a slash of gold and holy fire.

"This is for the greater good."

And Kayle was convincing- hadn't she always been?


	42. Refined Tastes

_**A/N: Requested by I Am The River King. I do hope this pleases you c;**_

* * *

To hunger was a miserable thing.

I could feel it now, sated but ever-present, curling in the depths of my belly while it bides its time. It would return- the hunger always did.

But I am old.

I am old, and I have come to know my hunger like I know my rivers; we have an understanding, hunger and I. I do not resent the beast in my belly any longer.

And when it does return, I cannot deny that I am not somewhat pleased, because there is a certain joy in the dealings with humans; they are quick-witted and sharp-tongued, most of the lot that seek me, and those who are not are earnest in that pure, untouched sort of way. None of them were the same. No, each human had that extra something to them that set them apart, and I delighted in their fantasies and witticisms and stories and desires. It was hard for me to decide which I liked more- the selfish ones who sought me to quench a hunger of their own, or the naïve individuals that timidly pleaded for my aid. I suppose it doesn't matter much either way, although I think I am a bit partial to those like me, who know hunger as I do and want nothing more than to sate it.

Because sinners or saints, wicked or honest- they all tasted the same.


	43. Brothers United

_**A/N: Life is butts right now, but after I get the next chapter for my main fic up I'll get to work on requests/other shorts.**_

_**Magery- I'm so glad you liked it ;-; I have a loooot of love for Kayle and her character, even though I don't think I've ever actually mentioned it to anyone before lol. So I am very glad you requested her c: That was SunnySplosion, and yeah that was me :D I was doing well but I was playing Syndra top against a Nasus who just… ruined us. Oh boy. **_

_**Ulcaasi- I actually have an idea for a project short now, especially since you mentioned it. I'll get to working on it after I've updated HTLB c:**_

_**Drzshadowboy999- Thank you c:**_

* * *

An entire village.

Not one person, not one family, but an _entire village. _

It was artful, surely, if you had the eye for it; the problem was that aside from the Virtuoso himself, no one else did. Zed didn't see artistry in meticulously planned blood splatters, and he didn't see a grand performance in bodies that no longer lived and breathed. He had only seen, for the last three and half years, needless and gruesome death. It was nothing he and Shen and his father hadn't seen before, but this was… different. The murderer wasn't angry, he didn't want anything, he wasn't exacting revenge; he was, in his mind, creating art of the most wonderful and exquisite kind.

And the longer they went without catching this Golden Demon, the more and more Zed felt his own mind slipping away.

He'd seen it in Shen, and even their Master. The grim mission wore on the trio in different ways, but Shen rarely had a word to spare anymore, and his father even less; he'd grown haggard, lines creasing his face and silver hair falling into silver eyes, and Zed wondered how much more of the grotesque art the three of them could possibly stomach.

In a tiny lodging just beyond the murdered village, Zed sat now, head cradled in his hands. The inn was tucked into the roadside and empty but for the traveling ninjas and the innkeeper, and Zed could hear every creaking floorboard and the whistle of wind against the cottage walls. They weren't especially loud noises, but they grated on Zed's nerves (thinning by the day) and his fingers curled tightly into his hair. It wasn't so much the disruption to the silence that bothered him, but that Zed's thoughts inevitably turned, as they always did now, to the twisted horrors he had found and left behind; he couldn't put into words why the murders of the Golden Demon affected him so, but there was something so deeply, profoundly disturbing about the elusive serial killer and his sadistic art. The fact that it had been more than three years and they had nothing to show for it exacerbated Zed's torturous thoughts, and he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes as if that might wipe away everything they'd seen.

It couldn't. Nothing could.

Interrupting the quiet were light, even footsteps outside of Zed's room, that paused outside of his door as if they were considering a knock, and continued inside without one. Zed looked up, blinking bleary eyes and lacking the energy to greet his companion.

"You should be resting."

Shen had closed the door behind him, but didn't venture more than a step or two into the room; his silver eyes, so reminiscent of his father's, flicked over the tired lines of Zed's face, and Zed looked away when Shen's scrutiny became uncomfortable.

"As you should be."

They both could have used a decent night's sleep after the day's events, but tortured thoughts and a clinging guilt kept them both far from any rest, and Zed knew that was why Shen was there at all. The Master's son looked no better than Zed felt, and the silence that fell between them was unusually uneasy.

It wasn't always this way; there was a time when neither of the two felt so aged or somber, when Zed would laugh at Shen's wit, when they weren't burdened with the terrible knowledge that the Virtuoso killed because they had yet to stop him.

How distant that time felt.

Shen did walk further into the room, pausing at Zed's bedside and tentatively lifting a hand that he placed gently on Zed's shoulder. The grip tightened, and Zed couldn't tell if it was because Shen meant to reassure him, or to comfort himself.

"We will catch him, brother. You and I."

His voice was hollow, just like Zed felt, and he lifted his hand to clap over Shen's reluctantly. He didn't doubt Shen's sincerity or their ability to eventually bring the Demon to justice, but Zed would be naïve to think that things would be as they were before the venture. They wouldn't be the same people, that he knew for certain.

But, if Zed had nothing else, he had his brother.

"You and I."


	44. Star Forger and Apocalypse Bringer

_**A/N: REMEMBER HOW EXCITED I WAS FOR KINDRED? FUCKING SPACE DRAGONS. DRAGONS. IN SPACE. I AM A MESS. (I'm taking lore liberties because Riot hasn't given us his yet, I'm home free.)**_

_**Ulcaasi- I just want to shower everyone in Shen/Zed feels, it's one of my life goals.**_

_**Garenkat Fangirl- Ty bb c:**_

_**Drzshadowbow999- Looool thank you. It was interesting to write, that's for sure.**_

* * *

He came forth in a blaze of starfire.

Comets heralded his arrival in a breathtaking show of light and otherworldly greatness for miles around, blocked only by the tip of the almighty Mount Targon and the three brave souls who stood calmly at its peak, facing their reckoning with a stoic sense of purpose. Galaxies and stars seemed to swim, to coalesce, to convene into a creature that shamed the size of the mountain so grandiose, to come together in the way the heavens should not.

The calamity was quiet, calculating, seeming not to notice that sky swirled around him, that the night was bright with his coming. This world was dark to him, pitifully so, but these three beacons stilled his destruction: gleaming silver, burning gold, fiery crimson. Like fallen stars, they faced this heavenly architect, and the body of galaxies shimmered before them in a mystical show of amusement. Aurelion Sol had faced opposition on more worlds in more galaxies than could ever be remembered, but this marked special to him; she who followed one moon, she who followed one sun, when it was he who had forged them all.

He closed his claws around stars that could have been, winking their celestial light from existence as the voice of the divine creator rumbled forward.

"Come now, Aspects. I have had no such challenge in _eons._"


End file.
